Wolf in the Lion's Den
by BellatrixLives
Summary: A tale of Sansa and Tyrion's growing relationship after they have married. How will their relationship bud among the troubles that surround them? Based solely on the show, I have not read the books. *Show Spoilers* Picks up during S3E8 Second Sons, right after they return to their room from the wedding feast.
1. Sleepless Night

**Author's Note:** This story picks up during episode 8 of season three (Second Sons). Some of the dialogue in the beginning is taken directly from the show. If you recognize it, it isn't mine. No infringement intended, these characters are not mine, I'm just borrowing them. This is my first GoT fic, and I am only going by the show, not the books. Please review and let me know what you think!

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_**One**_

~Sansa~

"My lord father has ordered me to consummate this marriage," Tyrion says, looking anywhere but at her.

Sansa takes a deep breath, approaches the table, and pours herself a glass of wine with a surprisingly steady hand. She downs the vile drink in two gulps, a desperate attempt to calm her nerves.

_You can do this… you must do this,_ she orders herself. _You've played your part far too well to abandon it now. If you turn away a Lannister your head will be on a spike before you can say 'traitor.'_

Trying to appear much more sure of herself than she actually feels, Sansa moves to stand next to the bed.

_Our bed… my marriage bed._

With graceful fingers she slowly starts to remove her wedding gown, thankful for the layers, and the slight delay it gives her. She can't see Tyrion standing behind her, but she can almost feel his eyes touching her. The heat from his gaze is nearly tangible.

She drops her dress on the floor, and nervously starts to slide the strap of her slip from her shoulder.

"Stop," Tyrion commands.

Her hand stills and she glances at him over her shoulder.

_Does he want to undress me? I just want to be done with this. Please don't drag it out._

"I can't. I could," he clarifies, "I won't."

"But your father..."

"My father wants someone to get fucked, I know where he can start."

Sansa bites her lip, unsure what to say.

"I won't share your bed. Not until you want me to," he says.

"And what if I never want you to?" she asks.

Tyrion smirks without humor and lifts his cup of wine to her.

"And so my watch begins."

After downing his drink Tyrion collapses on the chaise lounge, and immediately passes out.

Sansa, once she is sure he is truly sleeping, lets out a huge sigh. All day she has dreaded this moment, and yet her she is, still a virgin while her husband sleeps off his overindulgence in wine.

She starts extinguishing the candles in the room until only one remains. Sansa is just about to put it out and climb into bed, when she glances at Tyrion, sleeping uncomfortably on the lounge. Before she realizes what she is doing, Sansa is by his side, taking the small throw blanket from the lounge and covering him with it.

She studies his sleeping face, wondering if she can decipher his motives, but quickly gives up and retreats to bed.

Darkness envelops her as she puts out the final candle, but sleep does not find her easily.

Her mind is too full to rest.

Sansa can't stop thinking of her family. There is an ache in her belly as she pictures them: Robb, Jon, Bran, Rikon, her mother, even Arya. She didn't part on the best terms with her sister, but Sansa thinks of Arya often, wondering what happened to her, and if she is still alive.

Before bed each night, Sansa pictures herself arriving home, with all of her family waiting to greet her. She thinks of Winterfell, of the smell of the snow, and the musty scent of wet stone that fills the family home. She tries to imagine her skin prickling from the cold, and the wind whipping her hair as she rides through the gates to meet her loved ones.

Tonight her normal ponderings over her family are interrupted by the drunken snores of her new husband, and it only takes that small, no pun intended, reminder to bring her back to King's Landing and her current predicament.

It has been a long time since Sansa has actually wanted to be a member of the Lannister family, but here she is. Married to the imp. She reluctantly admits it could be worse.

_I could be married to Joffrey._

Sansa shudders at the thought.

_At least Tyrion has always been kind to me. He stopped the knights from beating me, I heard he sent someone to find me when the mob attacked us after the Princess was sent off, and he promised he would never hurt me. Now, tonight, he disobeyed Lord Tywin's orders and didn't make me consummate our marriage._

She tosses in bed, not out of physical discomfort, but from the uncomfortable thoughts she is having.

_A Lannister always has motives. They are never kind for no reason. Don't let your guard down because he didn't take you to bed after having a barrel of wine. Who knows if he'll even remember his promise in the morning?_

The sun is almost rising by the time Sansa finally drifts off.

After what seems like far too little sleep, Sansa's handmaiden, Shae, bursts into the room waking her up. Shae quickly helps Sansa into her dressing gown, and leads her to the table for breakfast.

Sansa sees Shae glaring at Tyrion's sleeping form before collecting the bed sheets, and feels touched by the woman's concern for her. She is lucky to have someone like her in King's Landing.

Tyrion seems to be having a harder time getting up than she, and Sansa suspects his head is pounding from all of the wine. He is finally sitting up straight when Shae returns with a set of clean sheets.

One glance her way and he is on his feet, heading for the door.

"If you'll excuse me, my Lady, I have urgent… Master of Coin business to attend to. I will return later, but don't feel the need to wait around for me."

"Of course, my Lord," Sansa says, bowing her head.

He's already out the door by the time she looks back up.

_Maybe Shae really _is_ as intimidating as she thinks she is._

"Are you alright?" Shae asks, rushing to her side.

"I'm fine. Really," she assures the woman.

"Did he…?"

Sansa shakes her head, and Shae relaxes.

"You can't tell anyone," Sansa explains.

"Of course I won't. It is no one's business. Now, eat your breakfast. Lady Margaery would like you to meet her in the garden when you have finished."

Sansa obliges, eager to meet Margaery. Despite her initial cautiousness towards the Tyrell woman, Sansa is growing to like her quite a bit. While she likes having Shea to confide in, Lady Margaery is a highborn girl like herself. Some things Shae just doesn't understand.

When Sansa finishes eating, Shae helps her dress and escorts her to the palace garden. Lady Margaery is pruning a rose-bush, a habit she brought with her from High Garden.

"Good morning, my Lady," Sansa greets her.

"How many times must I tell you to call me Margaery?"

"Sorry. Soon it will be 'your Grace' though, won't it?"

"At which point we will be family, and I will still insist you call me by name. Would you walk with me?"

"I would love to. Shae, you can attend your other duties. I will be fine in Lady Margaery's company," Sansa tells the handmaiden.

Shae seems reluctant, she's untrustworthy of everyone from court, but eventually nods and heads back into the castle.

Margaery takes Sansa's arm in hers and leads her down one of the aisles of flowers that has nobody else in it.

"So, you must give me details! I was thinking of you last night, after that horrible scene Joffrey created about the bedding ceremony. I thought it was very sweet the way Tyrion came to your defense," Margaery says, smiling.

"Came to my defense? He… was just drunk. Wasn't he?"

"Did he seem more coherent once you retired to your chambers?"

"I guess he may have. Do you really think he did that just to draw attention away from me?" Sansa asks.

Margaery laughs.

"I think that much was obvious to everyone _but_ you. So, tell me, what happened last night? Is he as… experienced… as they say?"

Sansa blushes.

"Oh, sweet girl, I don't mean to cause you discomfort. I'm sorry if I am making you uncomfortable. I suppose you don't talk about such things in the North? We are very open in High Garden," Margaery explains. "You can trust me. I haven't repeated anything you've told me so far."

"Well," Sansa starts, nervously, "we didn't actually do _anything_."

"He really _was_ drunk then?"

"Yes, and no. He slept like a drunken man, that is certain, but that isn't why we didn't… _you know._ He told me Lord Tywin ordered he consummate our marriage, but when I started to disrobe he stopped me. He said he wouldn't do it. He… told me he wouldn't share my bed until I want him to. And then he went to sleep on the lounge."

Margaery's eyebrows practically disappear into her hair in her disbelief.

"That is… certainly something I've never heard before."

"Why would he do that?" Sansa questions, confusion clouding her delicate features. "Do you think he doesn't… desire me?"

"Trust me, darling, I doubt there is a man in the seven kingdoms who has seen you and not desired you. Perhaps Lord Tyrion is just trying to make the best of the situation. You two are stuck together. Maybe he just wants to show you he respects you, and earn your respect in return."

"Maybe."

The two women continue walking through the garden, both lost in their own thoughts. Sansa has the feeling Margaery wants to ask her more questions, but none come. She finds herself again wondering whether Tyrion will remember his drunken vow to stay out of her bed until asked.

"Ah, there you are. Lady Tyrell, Lady Lannister, I've been looking for you."

Sansa's blood runs cold as the new voice behind them speaks. Margaery's grip on her arm tightens, and she pulls Sansa around with her to great the king.

"Your Grace," Margaery purrs, as she dips into a curtsy.

"Your Grace," Sansa stumbles a moment too late.

"How can we help you on this beautiful day?" Margaery asks.

Joffrey's cold eyes study Sansa intensely, looking her up and down, leaving her feeling exposed.

_Can he tell? Does he know I'm still a virgin?"_

"I was hoping to speak with my aunt, Lady _Lannister_, privately," he says smugly, caressing the word 'Lannister' and reveling in the discomfort its use gives Sansa.

Margaery squeezes Sansa's arm briefly, as if to offer her strength.

"Of course, your Grace. Perhaps when you finish with Lady Sansa, you could escort me through the maze? I have been eager to inspect it, but nervous of getting lost."

"Yes, my Lady, that would be splendid. On fine days like these one can often find servants lazing about in the maze. Maybe we can find a few to be flogged."

Margaery gives him a tight smile, nods and departs, leaving Sansa alone with her worst nightmare.


	2. Lady Lannister

**Disclaimer: **Characters (or locations) do not belong to me, no infringement intended.

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_**Two**_

~Sansa~

Joffrey leads Sansa away from Lady Margaery, and further into the twisting garden. She trails just a step or two behind him, wanting both the distance, and not to anger him by having the audacity to walk directly beside him. The further they travel from the courtyard, the more Sansa's nerves flutter. When he finally starts speaking to her, she almost trips.

"So, you've been made a woman now," he says, turning to face her, an evil smirk playing across his lips.

Sansa doesn't know how to respond to that, so she casts her eyes downwards.

"A little late for modesty, don't you think?" he laughs cruelly.

"Forgive me, your Grace. I'm not sure what you wish me to say. I have been taught that activities between a man and his wife are a private business. In the North—"

"Does this look like the bloody North?"

Joffrey takes an angry step forward, and Sansa tries not to cringe, but fails. Her fear seems to please him.

"No, your Grace, of course not," she whispers.

Joffrey's hand snakes out and he grasps her chin tightly between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her face to look at him.

"Your eyes are red. From tiredness, crying, or both?" he asks.

"Tired, your Grace."

"I bet you are. My imp of an uncle is known for his wild antics with whores, I bet he kept you up late, playing out his perversions. Is that it? Did he use you like a whore?"

Sansa closes her eyes and tries to turn her head away. Joffrey reads this as shame, laughs, and releases his hold on her chin.

"That's all traitors are good for. You're lucky you are beautiful. If not your head would already be next to your fathers. Perhaps after I've finally tried you out. Don't think your marriage makes you safe."

Joffrey puts his hand on her arm, slowly trailing his fingers up and down. Her skin is crawling from his touch.

"You may be a Lannister by law, but you'll never _truly_ be one," he tells her snidely.

"You're right, your Grace. You would know best, of course, seeing as you yourself are _much_ more a Lannister than most," she quips, unable to stop herself.

His fingers stop trailing, and instead bite into her flesh.

"There is another benefit to you marrying my uncle… You are no longer _my_ Lady."

Joffrey's other hand flies up and he strikes her across the face. Sansa gasps from the pain, but fights back tears, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. He takes another step closer to her and she backs up until she is pressing into the rose bushes.

"I'm going to enjoy taking you," he growls into her ear.

"My Lady? Are you back here?"

Shae appears from around the corner, and stops in her tracks, taking in the scene before her.

"Pardon, your Grace," she says stiffly, offering a curtsy, "but Lord Tyrion has sent me to fetch Lady Sansa."

"Fine," he snaps, "go. I have my Lady Margaery to attend anyway."

Joffrey steps back from Sansa, and heads away past Shae.

"Sleep well tonight, Lady Sansa," he calls over his shoulder as he walks away.

When he is out of sight, Shae hurries to Sansa's side.

"Are you alright, my Lady?"

"I—yes. Thank you, Shae."

"Did he hurt you? What happened to your cheek?"

"It's nothing, really. Lord Tyrion wants to see me?" Sansa asks.

"No, I was lying. I heard one of the guards say the king had went to find you, and when I returned to the courtyard Lady Margaery said you were alone with him. I just wanted him to go away."

"Thank you."

"Come, my Lady. Let's go your chambers and put a cloth on your cheek. Perhaps it will stop the swelling."

~Tyrion~

Tyrion spent most of his day with Bronn walking around the castle, hiding from his new bride and her handmaiden. It's not that he doesn't like the women; it's more that he just doesn't like them together. It was only when Shae came bursting into his chambers this morning that he realized how difficult things were going to be with his girlfriend attending his wife. It doesn't help that he is feeling very confused about his relationship with Shae.

"What's to be confused about?" Bronn asks, when Tyrion tells him as much. "You make love to yer wife, and you fuck yer whore."

"I told you, I will not be making love to my wife until she wants me to."

"You're insane you are. That Stark girl is a fine piece."

"First of all, it is now that _Lannister_ girl, and second of all, that _is _my wife you're talking about."

"Fine, fine. So you won't touch your wife. It's still easy, that means you doubly fuck your whore."

"That doesn't even make sense. Doubly fuck?"

"I'll tell 'ya what don't make no sense, having Lady Sansa in your bed and not doing the deed. I don't reckon you forgot how?"

"I know _how_, but I promised I wouldn't unless she wants to," Tyrion repeats for what feels like the twelfth time.

"That'll be a long wait. Least you got Shae."

"About that… Shae isn't really talking to me at the moment."

"I didn't know you paid her to talk."

Tyrion rolls his eyes.

"Alright, alright… what are 'ya gonna to do to fix it?"

"I don't know. These women will be the death of me. I tried thinking of what to say to Shae, but every time I come close to what might be the right words I start feeling… guilty," Tyrion admits.

"Why guilty?"

"I made a vow to Sansa to be faithful, and that poor girl has had enough broken vows in her lifetime."

Bronn starts laughing, but stops after Tyrion gives him a reprimanding look.

"Wait… are you being serious?" Bronn asks.

"Yes, I am being serious."

"Aye… you got it bad," Bronn says, whistling low. "You have feelings for your wife."

"No! It's just— I just… I see her, so sad and broken, and I just want to protect her."

"You got it really bad."

"Oh, shut up."

Tyrion sighs, running his fingers through his hair. His stomach begins to growl, and a look out the nearest window signals him it is time for dinner.

"I don't particularly wish to see any of my family after last nights display at my wedding feast, so I think I'll head back to have dinner in my chambers."

"That was a beautiful performance, by the way," Bronn smiles.

"Performance? Why, whatever do you mean?"

"Threatening the king on behalf of your Lady? 'Ya, you got it bad."

Bronn escorts Tyrion back to his room, and, after seeing both Sansa and Shae inside, gives Tyrion a knowing wink. The sell-sword is still laughing as he rounds the corner.

_Insufferable man_, Tyrion thinks. _I don't know why I pay him so much._

Sansa is sitting on the far side of the room, a needlepoint project in her lap. She looks up when Tyrion enters, but quickly turns her eyes away.

_Am I that hideous to her?_

"Good evening, Sansa."

"Good evening."

"Have you had dinner yet?" he asks, avoiding Shae's eyes on him.

"No, my Lord, not yet."

"It's Tyrion, Sansa, no need to call me 'my Lord,'" he corrects her. "Would you like to dine with me? I was thinking to take dinner here, away from the prying eyes of court."

"That would be much appreciated… Tyrion. I don't wish to be in the public eye at the moment," Sansa tells him. "Shae, would you please bring Lord Tyrion and myself dinner?"

Tyrion grimaces.

"Of course, my Lady," Shae answers through gritted teeth.

On her way out, Shae gives Tyrion the dirtiest look she can manage.

_This is going to be much harder than I thought._

Sansa slowly puts away her needlepoint and approaches the small dining table, her discomfort evident in every step. Tyrion gives her a small bow, and pulls her chair out for her.

"Thank you," she whispers, taking her seat.

He struggles to push the chair back in, but with a little, subtle, help from her he finally manages.

Tyrion takes a seat next to her, and awkward silence descends upon them.

_Gods be merciful and strike me down._

Sansa is looking anywhere but at him, and for once he has no idea what to say. No witty quip, or clever anecdote. There is nothing he knows to say that can ease the tension between them.

_How do you ease the discomfort of a girl forced to marry someone who disgusts her, not only in appearance, but also in name?_

After what seems like an eternity, Shae returns with their dinner and begins serving them.

"How was your day?" Tyrion asks, spearing a potato.

"It was good, my— Tyrion. Fairly uneventful. How was yours?"

When she turns to ask him, the candlelight falls on her face, highlighting a bright red welt. Without pausing to think about it, Tyrion leans across the table and gently brushes the blemish with his finger.

Shae, who is standing on his other side, refilling his glass _accidentally_ knocks it over and spills wine into his lap.

He jumps back in his seat, the cool liquid shocking him.

"Shae!" Sansa reprimands.

"Oops, sorry, my Lord," Shae says dryly.

"Quite alright," Tyrion answers, using his napkin to sop up the mess.

"Shae, that will be enough for now. You can return for the dishes later," Sansa tells her.

"As you wish, my Lady."

Shae marches across the room and slams the door on her way out.

"Please forgive her," Sansa begs, "as I mentioned before she isn't from here."

"Nothing to forgive. I'm sure it was an accident."

_Not likely._

"May I ask what happened to your cheek?" Tyrion questions, placing his ruined napkin on the table. "It was fine yesterday."

"Oh, really it's nothing," Sansa says, turning away.

"Sansa," he presses, reaching out and taking her hand. "I once promised you I would never hurt you, but beyond that, I also wish to protect you. If someone has hurt you, please tell me."

Sansa starts chewing her bottom lip, and Tyrion feels his pulse quicken.

_You _do_ have it bad._

"Please," he urges, squeezing her hand.

"It was Joffrey, but my own fault. I made a smart remark while walking in the garden with him, and he struck me."

Anger courses through him. Tyrion can practically see the scene playing out in front of his eyes. Poor Sansa thinking she might finally be free of the king, the only benefit of her marriage, but no, here Joffrey comes stalking her among the roses and other blooms.

"I'm so sorry, my dear. I'll have a word with him," Tyrion promises.

"No! Please, don't. I don't want him to think I complained. Besides, don't you think you are in enough trouble with the king after last night?"

"Are you worried about me?" he asks, surprised, and maybe just a tiny bit hopeful.

"It is my duty to worry about my husband," Sansa replies stiffly.

_Of course it is._

Tyrion gives her a small nod, and they finish the rest of their meal in silence. After Shae returns to, very loudly, collect the dishes, Sansa announces she is going to retire for the evening.

She goes behind the filigree divider and begins to change into her nightclothes. Try as he might, Tyrion can't help but peek every so often. The glimpses of milky white flesh both excite and shame him.

_Lecherous fool… she is barely more than a child._

Tyrion groans inwardly and pours himself another glass of wine. Then, remembering her injury he starts rummaging through his belongings. He hasn't unpacked everything yet, so it takes him a moment to find what he is looking for.

"Sansa?" he calls, turning to find her. "I have some—"

His voice dies in his throat when he sees her. Her hair is unbound and hanging in long waves, the shimmering candles making the color dance like flames. Tonight instead of the slip from under her gown, she wears a clinging nightgown of the softest blue.

"Yes?" she asks.

Tyrion clears his throat.

"I have some ointment left from my battle injury. I thought it might help ease the sting of your cheek."

He gestures for her to take a seat on the chaise, and hops up beside her.

"Let me," he offers.

She glances at him warily, but nods her approval.

While trying desperately to control his breathing, Tyrion begins gently applying the salve to her beautiful high cheekbone. Her skin is just as soft as he has imagined, and he finds himself letting his fingers linger just a tad longer than necessary. Letting go of restraint, he brushes his knuckle along her jaw line until just the tip of his thumb grazes the corner of her mouth.

He pulls his hand back as if shocked, and clears his throat again.

"That should do it."

"Thank you," Sansa tells him, giving him an unreadable look.

"I'll sleep here again tonight," he tells her, gesturing the chaise.

"Goodnight, Tyrion."

"Goodnight, Sansa," he answers quietly as he watches her withdraw to their marriage bed.

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Please review and let me know what you think!


	3. The Ladies of High Garden

_**Three**_

~Sansa~

Sansa wakes the next morning to the faint rustling sounds of her laundry being gathered. She turns over to make a smart remark to Shae about finally learning to be quiet, and is surprised to find a young woman she's never seen before.

"Who are you?" Sansa asks, sitting up in bed.

"I'm Pippa, my Lady, I'm your new handmaiden," the girl tells her.

Pippa can't be much older than Sansa, perhaps even a little younger. She has a very angular face, and brown hair pulled back in a braided bun.

"Where's Shae? She's my handmaiden."

"Shae is attending other duties this morning, my Lady. Not to worry, she is still your handmaiden as well, but a Lady of the Lannister household should have more than one maiden to assist her. Lord Tywin hired me as a welcome to the household gift," Pippa explains.

This news puts Sansa on edge, and she has the immediate feeling that this woman is, in all actuality, Lord Tywin's spy.

_What he expects to find is beyond me._

"I didn't mean to wake you. Forgive me, my Lady," Pippa begs. "I know you aren't feeling well."

"I'm feeling fine," Sansa says, confused.

"Oh. I… just assumed you must be… unwell."

Sansa catches Pippa glance at Tyrion, asleep on the chaise. And realization hits her.

_Lord Tywin wants to know how hard we are working on producing an heir._

"I—I mean I don't feel ill _now._ I'm feeling much better this morning than I was yesterday evening," Sansa fumbles. "I'm not much of a wine drinker, you see, and as I'm sure you've heard, my husband is quite talented in that area. I made a foolish wager that I could keep up with him and, needless to say, I lost."

"It's really none of my business, my Lady," Pippa says, returning to collecting laundry, but Sansa sees the suspicion dim in the woman's eyes.

_We're going to have to figure this out, or the servants will start to talk, and who knows who owns their eyes and ears._

Tyrion is still snoring loudly when Sansa sits down for breakfast. She waivers back and forth over whether she should let him sleep or wake him to eat. She finally decides it would be rude to leave him asleep on the couch while Pippa flits around the room, studying the married couple out of the corner of her eye.

Feeling the maid's eyes on her as she approaches the chaise, Sansa tries to keep her voice from sounding too formal.

"Tyrion…dear," she says softly, kneeling beside him. "It's time for breakfast."

Tyrion mumbles a little, and shifts, but does not wake.

Forcing herself to play the dutiful wife, Sansa reaches out and pushes the hair from his forehead.

"Tyrion?" she repeats, twirling the soft locks gently between her fingers.

A small smile spreads across his face as his eyes flutter open.

"Well, good morning, wife."

"Breakfast is here."

Something on her face must signal him, because Tyrion starts looking around the room for the cause of her discomfort. His eyes narrow a bit when they land on Pippa, and he sits up.

"I trust you are well this morning?" Tyrion asks, taking Sansa's hand and leading her to the table.

"Much better than last night," she answers, thankful for his choice of greeting. "I have learned my lesson indeed. You truly are the superior wine drinker."

"I did warn you," he beams, playing along without question.

Over breakfast Tyrion tells her of the time he once beat the Mountain in a drinking contest, filling the silence as Pippa goes about her work changing bed linens and emptying the chamber pot. Although, she's not entirely sure he's telling the truth, Sansa finds herself enjoying Tyrion's tale and on several occasions actually breaking into laughter. It feels nice after so much sadness.

Finally, Pippa bids them good day after Sansa assures the girl she can dress herself for the day.

"Whom does she work for?" Tyrion asks after the door closes behind her.

"She said your father sent her because a woman of the Lannister house needs multiple handmaidens. Is she a spy?"

"Most likely. She seemed very interested in not appearing interested in our interactions. Be careful around her."

"I'm always careful," Sansa replies without thinking.

Tyrion sighs sadly.

"I suppose you've had to be, haven't you?" he asks.

She doesn't answer.

"What are your plans for the day?"

"I'm having tea with Lady Olenna and the other Ladies from High Garden here shortly."

"That should be… thrilling, I'm sure."

Sansa can't help but smirk.

"Lady Olenna can be a very interesting woman," she says.

"Indeed."

When they finish, Sansa excuses herself to dress, and Tyrion does the same. He's much faster than she is. She's just pulling her nightgown off when he bids her farewell.

"I'm off to do my duty," he tells her. "Would you like to have dinner in our chambers again this evening? We won't be able to avoid the family forever, but I suppose they'll forgive us a few days to indulge in our _newlywed bliss._"

"That would be nice," she answers.

"Excellent. Until then, my Lady."

"Good—" Sansa turns towards his voice, intending to say goodbye, but the words stick in her throat.

Tyrion, halfway out the door, looks over when she starts to talk. He has a peculiar expression on his face, and Sansa realizes that her changing divider does not really offer much in the way of privacy during the day.

"Oh," she gasps, wrapping her nightgown around herself.

Tyrion looks away guiltily, gives a swift nod and hurries out the door.

Sansa takes her time dressing, unable to stop thinking of the look on his face. She doesn't understand what, or why, but when she pictures his expression she gets this strange feeling in her stomach; a warm, tingling knot that causes her face to flush. It's the same feeling she got last night when Tyrion caressed her cheek while putting on the healing salve. Not knowing what to make of it, and feeling unexplainably embarrassed by it, Sansa pushes the memories and feeling away, and heads out to meet Lady Olenna for tea.

Sansa has come to truly enjoy the company of the High Garden women, especially Lady Olenna. The woman is so confident and brazen, that Sansa can't help but admire her.

Since she's been at court, Sansa's contentment has fluctuated constantly, plummeting greatly the day she watched her father beheaded. Every day since then has been a painful tightrope act. She must think through every syllable that comes from her mouth because each one could be the one gives her away. That gives away she _doesn't _believe her father was a traitor, that she wishes her brother would win the war and save her, that she wishes for nothing more than to see Joffrey and the horrid Queen's heads ablaze in wildfire.

Spending every waking moment monitoring not only her words, but also her posture, and movements has been the most exhausting time Sansa has ever experienced. But, when she's with the High Garden women, when she is with Lady Olenna, she can picture what it would be like to have the freedom to speak her mind. It may not be much, but being around a woman who ignores boundaries, completely without consequence, has had a liberating effect on Sansa.

"How Tywin thinks Cersei will manage to squeeze out another babe before her change is upon her is beyond me," Olenna complains to the small group of women around the table.

"Grandmother," Margaery chides, "you shouldn't speak of the Queen that way."

"Queen Regent. You'll be the Queen soon enough."

Sansa smiles into her teacup. She particularly enjoys when Lady Olenna gets into one of her 'anti-Cersei' tirades. She has plenty she would love to add on to the subject herself, but Sansa remains the quiet, polite listener, holding her tongue.

"Speaking of squeezing children out, are any of you newlyweds with child yet?" Olenna asks.

Aside from Olenna, Sansa, and Margaery there are four other woman with them for tea. Two of who recently wed into the court by marrying a pair of Lords.

Hazel and Naomi, the two newlywed women start giggling.

"I'm not, but I'm sure it won't be long," Hazel says, winking.

"I am not holding my breath," Naomi beams, "but I am a week past my usual cycle!"

The women around the table start to coo, and offer their good luck wishes. Sansa just sips on her tea, and tries to remain as small as possible.

"I know it is far too soon after your wedding to know if you are with child, Lady Lannister," Olenna starts, forcing all eyes on Sansa, "but I bet you are eager to hear the pitter patter of little feet."

"I—I—" Sansa tries, but becomes distracted by the stifled laughter coming from her left.

Hazel seems to be having a hard time containing her glee. She also seems to be oblivious to the eyes around the table being drawn to her.

"Lady Kells, whatever is it that has you in such a state?" Olenna asks.

Hazel sobers up immediately when she sees all attention on her.

"Beg pardon, my Lady, I don't know what came over me."

Margaery says something, drawing the attention of Olenna away from Hazel, and thankfully away from the topic of Sansa's womb.

"What was that?" Naomi asks Hazel quietly.

Sansa turns her gaze towards Lady Olenna, pretending to listen to what she's saying, as Hazel leans over to whisper in Naomi's ear.

_You call that whispering?_

"I just couldn't help myself when Lady Tyrell asked Lady Lannister about the patter of 'little feet.' Like she doesn't already get that from her husband! I wonder if he wakes up crying in the night for a breast as his child will?"

Sansa is not the only one to overhear this if the gasps from around her are any indicator. Her cheeks burn red in what she thinks is embarrassment; it only takes a moment to realize that it is actually anger burning through her instead.

Sansa jumps to her feet and shoots a fierce glare at Hazel.

"Excuse me, Lady Kells? Do you mind repeating that? I'm sure I must have misheard you," Sansa growls.

"I—I'm sorry, my Lady. I meant no disrespect."

"And yet that is all I heard. You make fun of my husband's stature, and yet it was he who was on the frontlines of the battle of Blackwater Bay while your lord husband cowered inside the church. If you'll excuse me, ladies," Sansa says, addressing the rest of the shocked women, "I think I need some air."

She turns on heel, just catching a look of what can only be described as pride on Lady Olenna's face, and marches towards exit.

With the intention of seeking out Shae for a session of venting, Sansa heads towards the servant's chambers. She can't believe the nerve of that woman, to sit right there next to Sansa and openly mock Tyrion.

Walking down a long corridor, Sansa can hear voices from just around the corner. She has every intention of continuing on her journey, when she catches a snippet of the conversation.

"—and there he was, sleeping on the lounge while Lady Sansa had the whole bed to herself."

The voice belongs to Pippa. Sansa hears them getting closer and ducks into a nearby alcove, staying out of sight.

_You are becoming a horrible little eavesdropper,_ she thinks, _worse than Arya._

"It's not like he takes up much room," the other voice laughs.

"Anyways, I told Lord Tywin what I saw and he paid me _ten golden dragons_!" Pippa exclaims.

"Holy crow! Did he say anything?"

"When I was on my way out he told the Queen Regent that if he doesn't get any proof they've—well, _you know_… consummated, he's going to have his guards stand in and _make _them do it."

"That man is scary… I wouldn't put it past him," the other voice offers.

Sansa waits until they are out of earshot before leaving her hiding space. She gives up on seeking out Shae and instead decides to go back to her chambers. She needs to think things out before she talking Tyrion.

~Tyrion~

When he returns to his room for dinner with his wife, Tyrion finds Sansa pacing anxiously back and forth. She halts mid-step when she sees him.

"What's going on?" he asks.

"I need you in my bed tonight."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Let me know what you guys think, I'm really enjoying your reviews :)


	4. Plotting Partners

_**Four**_

~Tyrion~

"_I need you in my bed tonight."_

Tyrion is in shock as he stares at Sansa, her eyes are huge and imploring.

"Well, this is a lot sooner than I expected," he says, closing the door behind him. "Are my dashing good looks too much to resist?"

Sansa seems momentarily confused.

"No! I mean— not that you aren't very handsome," she adds quickly, "but I meant in my bed as in _sleeping_. Just sleeping."

Tyrion tries not to let his disappointment show.

"What has brought this on?" he asks as he makes to pour himself a glass of wine.

He can see how shaken Sansa is and, without asking, he pours her a glass as well. She takes the cup greedily, and they sit down as she starts telling him about overhearing her new handmaiden talking in the hall.

"She admitted to being a spy," she tells him, "and said she told your lord father about you sleeping on the lounge."

"What else did she say?" Tyrion questions. "Something else has you shaken, we already suspected Pippa was a spy."

"She overheard Lord Tywin telling your sister if he didn't get proof that we've… consummated, he is going to send his guards in to force us."

_That sounds like him… and the last thing I want are his guards around another of my brides._

He grimaces as the memory of his beautiful Tysha being passed around the guardhouse surfaces, and tries to rebury it.

"We'll need to come up with a plan," he sighs. "Just sleeping in the same bed won't do away with suspicion."

"I know. I have a plan," Sansa says, and begins filling him in.

He smiles and nods along, genuinely impressed. Her idea is simple, and extremely believable.

_Cersei sincerely underestimates this girl._

"What do you think?" she asks, nervously.

"It's brilliant," he says. "It is subtle enough to seem true. Very elegant."

"You really think so?"

She starts chewing her lower lip in a way he recognizes as her nervous tick, and wonders why she doubts herself so greatly.

_Perhaps it is because she's never received an un-barbed compliment from a Lannister before? Every 'kind' word from Cersei or Joffrey is more of a thinly veiled insult than anything._

"Yes, I certainly do think so. I should have had you help preparing for the Battle of Blackwater Bay."

Sansa blushes.

"You did quite well on your own with that," she says quietly.

"If you listen to the rest of court, the battle was only won thanks to my father."

"King's Landing would have been halfway burned to the ground by the time your father arrived if it hadn't been for you and your wildfire. Everyone owes you a great debt, even if they are to stubborn to admit it."

"Thank you," he says, touched by her words.

Silence falls on them, neither knowing what to say next. They sit quietly, sipping their wine, until a knock on the door signals dinner's arrival.

Shae comes in, arms laden with food.

"Shae!" Sansa exclaims. "I'm so glad to see you. I was worried about you when you weren't here this morning."

"Thank you, my Lady," Shae answers, setting the small table. "There was no need to worry. I was just being informed that you are to have two handmaidens now."

"Yes, I've found that out as well," Sansa says, stiffly.

"I will return for the dishes later, "Shae tells them before quickly retreating from the room, never once looking Tyrion's direction.

"Shall we?" he asks, gesturing the table.

Tonight's main course is a beautiful roast duck, which inspires Tyrion to tell Sansa about the time he was chased from an Inn by a gander of geese after inadvertently insulting the owner about the smell of the establishment.

"Apparently the smell was his wife's cooking. The next thing I know he opens the back door and shouts, 'get him!' And a dozen geese come running through the door honking and nipping at me!"

Sansa starts laughing.

"You're lying!" she accuses. "Who has attack geese?"

"I told you, it was a shabby place. It's not like he could afford an attack bear."

She snorts, and gives him a look that clearly says she thinks he's pulling her leg.

"Thank you," she says quietly, after a moment.

"What for?"

"For telling me that story. Even if I don't quite believe it," She smiles. "For not talking about court politics endlessly… or the war. For not forcing me to do my _wifely duty_. For everything."

Tyrion isn't sure how to respond; his throat feels oddly tight. He gives her a small tight smile, and nods.

Shae returns for the dishes, not saying a word the entire time she is in the room, and closing the door loudly when she leaves.

"Do you think she's mad at me?" Sansa asks. "For having to have two maids?"

"No, of course not. I'm sure she knows it isn't your fault. She's probably had a rough day."

She looks unconvinced, but nods anyway.

"I suppose we should…" Sansa starts nervously, glancing at the bed.

"Yes, of course. I'll just change over here so you can have some privacy."

Tyrion retreats to the far side of the room and begins undressing, trying not to here the swishing fabric of his wife undressing. He still feels a bit guilty about catching a look this morning, but that guilt isn't enough to stop him from pulling the image up in his mind. He didn't see much, but he distinctly recalls the soft swell of her breasts, and the curve of her hip. The form of the woman she's grown into, so different from the girl she was when she arrived at court.

Tyrion pulls on a large tunic to sleep in, just as he hears Sansa clear her throat. He turns to find her sitting on the edge of the bed in a tan colored nightdress. The shade fabric making her porcelain skin glow even brighter.

"Do you have a side preference, my Lord?" she asks.

_She always hides behind formalities when she finds herself in new territory. _

"Again, it's Tyrion, and no, Sansa, I do not. I don't take up much space. Make yourself comfortable and I'll find room to sleep."

She nods, and slowly slips beneath the covers.

Tyrion extinguishes all the candles but one next to his side of the bed. He climbs up to find Sansa lying stiffly on her back, staring at the canopy.

"I promise you have nothing to fear from me," he insists, softly. "You don't have to be uncomfortable all night because of me. I promise not to lay a finger on you."

"I know. I've just not shared a bed with anyone before, well, that wasn't Arya after a nightmare."

"You'll hardly notice I'm here," he assures her, blowing out the last candle.

"Goodnight, Tyrion."

"Goodnight, Sansa."

~Sansa~

"_You'll hardly notice I'm here." What a lie,_ Sansa thinks. _I can't think about anything else._

She can hear his breathing, even and deep. No snoring tonight, though she almost wishes he would. At least then she'd have an excuse for not being able to sleep. All she can think about is how close he is. Sansa can feel the warmth radiating from him, and her fingers keep twitching, almost as if they want to reach out and touch him. See if he's really there. See if he is as solid as she imagines.

_Get a hold of yourself,_ she chastises. _You are not a wanton woman of the night. You don't start caressing a man just because he is there. Because his stories make you laugh when you thought you never would again. Because he is the only one who has been kind to you since your family were declared traitors._

_Wait… where did caress come from? I only wanted to be sure he was there._

Sansa groans inwardly and turns her back to her husband.

_You don't want to touch him. You don't want to touch him. You don't want to touch him._

_~Tyrion~_

_You don't want to touch her. Okay, you do, but you can't. She'd run screaming from this room if she knew what you wanted to do._

In all honesty, Tyrion is a bit surprised he didn't go running from the room when he realized that when he thinks about touching her, he thinks about holding her. Not all the dirty stuff he normally imagines when he thinks about a woman.

Maybe it is because he's never been with a proper Lady before, and he wants to treat her as such. Or maybe he just wants to soothe away the pain she's endured.

_It's going to be a long night._

Tyrion focuses on keeping his breathing even, so she doesn't know he's still awake, because if the soft sighs coming from the other side of the bed are any indicator he's not the only one sleep is eluding.

~Sansa~

Sansa only manages a couple hours of rest before the chamber door opening wakes her. When she opens her eyes she is surprised to find herself staring at Tyrion's face, only a few inches from hers. He looks so peaceful.

_Peaceful won't do._

She nudges him under the blanket with her leg, trying to stealthily wake him. He must not be sleeping soundly, because his eyes pop open almost instantly. If he is surprised to find her so close to him, he doesn't show it.

Tyrion flashes her a wink, and then puts on a pained expression before starting to groan.

"Gods be merciful, I think I'm dying," he moans, sitting up.

"What's wrong?" Sansa asks, trying to seem suitably concerned.

"This damned mattress! I can't spend another night on it. Maid!" he snaps, and Sansa flips to be sure Pippa is with them, and not Shae.

"Yes, my Lord?" Pippa asks, coming into view.

"I want this bed completely stripped," he commands. Then turning to Sansa adds, "I'm having the mattress replaced. It is unacceptable that the damned lounge is softer than our bed."

"Whatever you wish," Sansa says sweetly.

Tyrion climbs out of bed and comes around to take Sansa's hand before leading her to the breakfast table where Pippa has laid out a beautiful fruit spread. They sit next to each other, nibbling at the different fruits and making small talk about the upcoming royal wedding.

Sansa watches Pippa from the corner of her eye, not wanting to seem too obvious. The handmaiden is pulling back the blankets, and then the sheets.

_There. She's seen it._

As Pippa pulls the final sheet down, the one covering the mattress, she pauses about halfway down. Just for a couple seconds, but Sansa knows she's seen it.

Before Tyrion returned to their rooms yesterday Sansa had already been preparing her plan. She had unmade the bed, and in the middle of the mattress poured a small amount of wine mixed with water. The water diluted the color of the wine, leaving a stain that looks remarkably like blood.

_Proof of our consummation._

Pippa finishes stripping the mattress and takes all the bedding with her when she leaves for cleaning.

"Did she see it?" Tyrion asks.

"I'm certain of it."

"Nice work," he compliments, patting the hand she has resting on the table.

Shae arrives, just then, and Sansa is thrilled to see her. She hopes she can get a few minutes alone with her to tell her about fooling Pippa.

Shae smiles her greeting at the couple and begins to collect the previous day's laundry. She is just gathering Sansa's gown when she freezes, her eyes locked on the bare mattress.

Shae swirls around, a look of cold fury on her face directed squarely at Tyrion. She tosses the laundry back to the floor with an angry growling noise and stomps out of the room before anyone can say anything.

"What— Why—?" Sansa stutters, not understanding what is happening.

"I think she saw the mattress," Tyrion says quietly. "She's very protective of you, and I think she's angry at me for something she _thinks _I did to you."

"She looked mad at me," Sansa mumbles, lip quivering.

She's gotten good at hiding her true emotions, but Shae is Sansa's only friend in King's Landing and the thought of losing her is too much.

"No, no, of course not. I'll go have a word with her. Why don't you get dressed, and I'll be back shortly," Tyrion assures her.

He quickly pulls on a suitable shirt and rushes out of the room.

"Shae!"

* * *

**Author's Note: **As you can see I've added in dividers to make it a little more clear when I switch point of view. I'll be going through an adding them to the previous chapters as well. Thank you for all of the wonderful reviews! I read them all (even if I don't respond right away) and each one makes me smile. Hope you are enjoying this so far, more to come soon!


	5. A Walk to Remember

_**Five**_

~Tyrion~

"Shae!" he calls, trying to catch up to her, cursing his short legs and small stride.

_If I were as tall as Jaime I'd have caught her by now._

"Shae!" he yells, rounding the corner and bumping straight into her.

She's standing, arms crossed angrily, looking straight down at him. The amount of hatred on her face causes Tyrion to cringe.

"Stop your yelling," she insists, voice hard. "Do you want to draw everyone's attention?"

"I was just trying to get yours."

"Why? What is there to say? I saw the stain. I know you've bedded her."

Tyrion sighs and tries to take Shae's hand, but she shrugs him off. He points to a nearby alcove, and Shae rolls her eyes but follows him when he heads into it.

"I did not bed her," he says quietly.

"Don't lie to me. I saw—"

"You saw diluted wine. Sansa's new maid is a spy for my father. We had to make her believe we've consummated, or my father was going to send guards into our chambers and force us to."

Shae is still looking at him with suspicion in her eyes, so he continues.

"I promise you, I have not touched my wife. I told Sansa I would not share her bed until she wants me to."

"Until she wants you to?" Shae demands, eyes flaring. "So, what you are saying is that if she gives you the signal you'll be desperately pawing at her without hesitation?"

"I could not deny my wife, it would break my vow."

"Don't act like you wouldn't like it. I see the way you drool over her. And what is a vow to _you_? Didn't you once say you were _mine_?"

"You know I had no choice but to marry her. Besides, it isn't like she'll be begging me to come to her bed anytime soon… or ever for that matter," Tyrion tells her.

"You stupid little fool," Shae sighs, throwing her hands in the air. "You are so blind. The girl likes you."

"She may tolerate me—"

"Tolerate you? Yesterday she yelled at Lord Kells' wife in front of all the High Garden Ladies because Lady Kells made fun of you. Sansa said that Lord Kells was hiding like a coward during the Blackwater Battle, while you were leading the charge."

Tyrion doesn't know what to say to this new bit of information.

"This poor girl has been through hell," Shae says, her voice losing some of its venom. "She has been mistreated, humiliated, and degraded all while not being able to say a word in defense of herself or her family. You have been kind to her, you protect her, and from what I see you even make her laugh."

Shae kneels down before Tyrion, and places a hand on his cheek.

"I know you are insecure, and you can't see that she is starting to care for you, but you are exactly who Sansa Stark needs."

"Shae," Tyrion whispers, "I still care for you."

"I know you do, but you are also starting to care for her. That and your duty to your family will always keep us apart. I like Sansa; she is a sweet girl. She needs your protection… and your devotion. I am going to make it easy for you, by doing something very hard for me. I'm leaving King's Landing tonight."

"Shae—"

"I am going to the free cities. I've saved up more than enough gold from our time together to keep me comfortable the rest of my days."

"You don't have to go."

"I can give you up to save her… but I can't watch you fall in love with her. I _do _have to go."

Tyrion's eyes prickle and he tries to blink back tears.

_She's the first woman since Tysha_ _I cared about_, he thinks as he looks into her warm brown eyes.

"I'll miss you," he tells her softly.

"And I'll miss you, my Lion."

Shae gives him a sad smile before leaning in and placing gentle goodbye kiss on his lips. It's over before he knows it and she is up and walking away, not once looking back.

_I couldn't bear it if she did._

~Sansa~

Sansa waits impatiently for Tyrion to return, pacing back and forth across the chamber floor. When he is gone for more than twenty minutes she starts to doubt he will return right away, and dresses for the day.

_I don't know why I'm bothering; I don't have any plans today. I'm sure I'd be welcome back for tea with the High Garden ladies, but I really don't wish to see them._

Sansa takes her time dressing, drawing out the process by choosing to wear her hair in an elaborately braided fashion. In Winterfell she was often in charge of dressing herself, her father said it built character and would keep her humble, so she knows how to braid her own hair fairly well.

Since coming to King's Landing she's always had a handmaiden to do it, and her fingers have grown clumsy from being out of practice. She has to undo and redo her hair several times before she's happy with it.

When she's done with her hair, she hesitates over which gown to wear.

_If I am to stay in the chambers all day I should wear something simple, but if I am called away I will look foolish for having spent so much time on my hair._

In the end she decides to wear a silvery-blue gown, with a silver chained belt cinched around her waist.

Perhaps spending so much time on her appearance_ is_ foolish under the circumstances, but Sansa finds an escape in it. When she first arrived in the south she was immediately taken by the fashions and the trends… the romance of it all.

She was just a girl then.

After all she's been through in the past year, Sansa knows she will never be _that_ girl again. Trying on her gowns, feeling the silks against her skin, and styling her hair in a daring new fashion, makes her think of those early days in King's Landing. Back when everything had been perfect.

When the chamber door opens she can almost believe it is her father coming to call on her.

She tries not to let her disappointment show when her husband walks in. She realizes that it isn't hard because she isn't entirely disappointed to see him.

He's wearing different clothes than he left in, and she decides he must not have moved all of his things here yet.

"You look breathtaking," Tyrion tells her, pausing in the doorway.

"Thank you," Sansa blushes. "You're too kind."

"And you are far too beautiful for the likes of me."

"Do not think so lowly of yourself, Tyrion. Besides, I am no great prize coming to you with the blood of traitors in my veins."

He gives her a sharp look and steps into the room, closing the door.

"Sansa, I know I am a Lannister and you have no reason to trust me, but there is no need for you to call your family traitors when we are alone. I know you don't believe that… and I'm not sure I do either," he tells her, softly.

She wants to believe him, needs to believe that someone is on her side. The young girl in her wants to latch onto his honeyed words, but the hardened woman she's become resists after being fooled so many times.

"They _are_ trait—"

"Sansa… don't," Tyrion interrupts.

Irrationally her eyes begin to water, and before she can stop it tears start streaming down her face. She turns away, embarrassed.

She feels him take her hand and looks down to see him holding it gently. His fingers are soft, and warm; her hand begins to tingle from his touch.

"If it upsets you we needn't talk about it at all," he assures her, "but if you _do _feel the need, you can speak openly with me. I promise I won't judge you or think lesser of you for loving your family."

When Sansa meets his eyes she finds only kindness.

"After all, my family is a bunch of insufferable bastards and I still love them. Well… some of them. All right, like three of them. My point is… Well, actually I've quite forgotten my point. I just wanted you to know I am here for you."

He reaches in his pocket, pulls out a handkerchief, and passes it to her.

"Dry your eyes, beautiful girl. I'd like to go on a walk and show off my trophy bride," he smiles brightly.

His attitude is so infectious that Sansa can't help but smile back.

"Thank you," she says, passing the handkerchief back.

"Shall we?" he asks, gesturing towards the door.

Sansa nods and they depart.

Tyrion first leads her out to the courtyard, where they see several other people out walking. Everyone keeps their distance from them though, instead choosing to gossip, their whispers barely concealed behind hands and fans.

"Does it bother you?" Sansa asks. "The way they whisper about you as if you aren't right here?"

"I've grown quite used to it over my lifetime. Does it bother you?"

"It used to, but I suppose I've grown used to it as well."

"I've had enough of being a spectacle for right now," Tyrion tells her. "I want to show you something."

He leads her to a part of the courtyard she's never been in before and up a set of stone steps. She follows, slightly out of breath, until she finds her self atop the castle wall looking out over Blackwater Bay.

"It's beautiful up here," she gasps.

"It's quite peaceful. I like to come up here to get away sometimes."

"I can see why."

Looking out into the bay, Sansa realizes that if she concentrates she can make out shipwrecks from the battle. She sighs and stares out at the ocean, imagining herself to be on a ship on her way back to her family.

"I talked to Shae," Tyrion finally says.

"Is she mad at me for something?" Sansa asks desperately.

"No, of course not. She wasn't really that mad at anyone. She's had a rough day, and when she thought I may have… mistreated you, she bolted because she couldn't stand anymore bad news."

"What other bad news has she received?"

"I'm sorry… but she's been called away for a family emergency. She leaves for the free cities tonight."

Sansa feels as if a bucket of ice water has been dumped on her.

"She's— she's leaving? Will I get to see her?"

"I don't think so, no. I'm so sorry, Sansa. I know you two are close."

Sansa sighs deeply and nods, trying to push the pain aside. It's easier than it used to be and she wonders if it is because she is growing stronger, or just losing the ability to feel.

"She should be with her family," She says finally.

"I knew this would upset you," Tyrion tells her. "That's what took me so long to return. I wanted to get you something to cheer you up."

"You didn't have to do that," Sansa says, turning to face him.

"No, but I wanted to."

Tyrion reaches into his jacket and pulls out a small package. He hands it to her and begins to wring his hands nervously.

When she opens it, Sansa finds a beautiful flowered pendant with a sapphire in the middle, hanging from a silver chain.

"It's gorgeous," she smiles.

_Much prettier than the one Joffrey gave me._

"It's a family heirloom."  
"Thank you. Are you sure you should give it to _me?_"

He waves her reservation off.

Sansa kneels down and wraps her arms around Tyrion. He only hesitates a moment before returning her embrace. She finds the contact much more enjoyable than she would have imagined, and has a slight tinge to her cheeks when she pulls away.

Tyrion is staring at her in wonder.

"May I?" he asks, pointing to the necklace.

She nods and passes it back to him, and he walks around behind her. Sansa's hair is up so he has easy access, and she tries not to shiver when his fingers graze her neck.

"It's lovely," she says, standing back up. "Thank you."

"Of course, my Lady." He pauses. "I do however have more unfortunate news."

Sansa nods and braces herself.

"My father has requested we dine with the family tonight."

* * *

**Author's Note: **Sorry about the delay! My laptop keeps overheating and crashing :( Thank you for all the wonderful reviews, I am so glad you are liking it. If you are interested in the inspiration for Sansa's necklace I have posted a link at the bottom of the page, you just have to remove the spaces because fanfiction dot net is weird about links. On another note, I know a lot of people are eager for some Sansa/Tyrion M rated material. All I have to say is hang in there! It is rated M for a reason, but to be true to character things need to be the right pace. Thanks for the support and keep the reviews coming!

www. josephjewelry jewelry /images /Custom -Blue-Sapphire-Pendant-front-1483 .jpg


	6. Family Dinner

_**Six**_

~Sansa~

After Tyrion gave her the pendant they spent the rest of the afternoon together in the royal library. Sansa had only been there a couple times before, but never for any length. Tyrion took her around and explained the cataloguing system, even helping her find a couple songbooks. They spent most of their time in silence, looking through the dusty tomes, but Sansa didn't mind. In fact she found that rather than feeling awkward, the silence they shared was rather comfortable… almost intimate.

As they make their way to dinner with the Lannisters, Sansa is so thankful for her choice in attire for the day, glad she won't look like an underdressed fool. On the way Tyrion warns her that his father _will_ be there, but overall that is for the best, because he will keep Joffrey and Cersei in line. She doubts this but doesn't say anything.

_Trying to contain Joffrey is like trying to contain wildfire under a wooden bucket; it only fuels the flames._

"Take a deep breathe, everything will be fine," Tyrion assures her as they stop outside the King's private dining room.

Sansa obeys, inhaling deeply, but she can't control the flutter in her stomach as she follows her husband into the room.

_This will be a long evening,_ she thinks taking in the scene.

Tywin is sitting at the head of the small dining table, glaring daggers at Cersei who is to his right. She seems to be polishing off her wine glass at an alarming rate. Next to her is Tommen, looking small and sullen, no doubt missing his sister. At the other end of the table is Joffrey trying to look impressive, but only managing uncomfortable and unsure under the gaze of his grandfather.

"About time," Cersei mumbles into her cup when she sees Sansa and Tyrion enter.

"Please excuse us if we are late," Tyrion says grandly, "as you well know I don't travel all that fast."

"Why don't you and your lovely bride take a seat," Tywin offers courteously.

Sansa freezes, unsure where to sit.

_Which is worse? Tywin or Joffrey?_

Tyrion sense her hesitance and hurries to pull a chair out for her, to Tywin's left.

"My Lady, why don't you sit here?" he smiles, obviously thinking Joffrey is not the safer bet.

"Thank you, my Lord."

Sansa sits, and helps Tyrion slide her chair in.

"We haven't seen much of you two," Joffrey smiles wickedly. "I take it you've been… _busy_?"

"Joffrey, darling, what your uncle and his bride do in their spare time is their own private business," Cersei says sweetly, "and I'm sure our little dove wouldn't like to discuss such matters."

Cersei gives Sansa a sneering smile; the one that always follows her statements she feels will make others uncomfortable.

After telling off Lady Kells for speaking ill of Tyrion, Sansa finds it harder to keep her tongue, and can't help stop herself from rising to Cersei's bait.

"It's alright, your Grace," Sansa smiles at Cersei. "We _have _been rather busy. It has been nice the last few days getting to know one another away from the eye of court."

"Yes, I'm sure," Tywin says loudly, interrupting before Cersei can respond. "It must have been hard for you these past months, under the prying eye of everyone because of the people you are related too."

"It was completely understandable, my Lord," Sansa tells him mechanically, eyes downcast. "My family are traitors."

"No," Tywin says, causing her head to snap up.

Sansa looks at him, confused.

"You are a Lannister now. Your family were traitors, but now you are one of us. That means you must be above reproach. You cannot give anyone cause to doubt you, because it reflects on my name and my allowance of you to marry my son. Do not make me regret this match."

"How touching, father," Tyrion snorts, "though perhaps you could have made your 'welcome to the family' speech a tad less terrifying."

Tywin gives Tyrion a challenging look, but remains silent as the servants chose that moment to bring the meal in.

The spread is marvelous, as always, but Sansa has a hard time tasting anything. She is too focused on keeping her movements measured, and her responses proper. She is mostly ignored as Tywin domineers the conversation, using the time to point out Joffrey's inadequacies when it comes to ruling.

She is almost starting to enjoy herself, basking in Joffrey's humiliation and discomfort, when she leans forward to pour herself another glass of wine.

_This stuff really isn't as bad as I used to think._

"What are you wearing?" Cersei asks loudly, her fork clattering to her plate.

Sansa looks around, trying to find whom she's referring to. It takes her a moment to realize it is herself.

"I'm sorry?" she asks.

"That necklace!"

"That would be a gift from me," Tyrion answers.

"That was mother's pendant! She cannot wear that! It belongs on a Lannister Lady!" Cersei demands.

"She _is_ a Lannister Lady, currently the only one. You are, after all, a Baratheon, dear sister. Soon to be a Tyrell."

"Don't you dare—" Cersei starts, but Tywin interrupts.

"Enough! Cersei, you will treat Lady Sansa with more respect, I will not have whispers circulating that our own house fights one another. If I didn't think she should wear that pendant, I would not have given it to Tyrion when he came to me," Tywin glares at his daughter.

Sansa has to bite back her smile.

"It looks very lovely on you, Sansa," Tywin adds turning his attention to her.

"Thank you, my Lord."

Sansa feels Tyrion pat her leg beneath the table, offering his support, and is grateful to have him there with her. The rest of the meal she can sense Cersei's eyes on her, and whenever she looks up sure enough the blonde is glaring at the pendant around her throat. Sansa is certain the woman would strangle her with the chain if she had the chance.

When dinner comes to an end, Sansa is only too glad. She and Tyrion bid their goodbyes, and return to their chambers. On the way out, Sansa makes the mistake of looking back and receives a leering wink from Joffrey,

"You survived!' Tyrion announces happily, as they draw near their chambers.

"I suppose I did," she replies with a small smile.

"I know my father seemed a bit rough, but he actually likes you. I know that may be hard to believe, but that's how he treats those he likes."

"I can't think why he would like me," she comments. "Considering where I come from."

"I think that _is _why. He knows you must be a smart, resourceful girl to have survived here for so long. The lone wolf in a den of hungry lions; he thinks you are impressive."

Tyrion opens their chamber door for her. Sansa enters and sits on the chaise.

She laughs, humorlessly, reaching up to start unbraiding her hair.

"I'm far from impressive," she tells him.

"Oh, my dear lady," Tyrion says softly, "I completely disagree."

He climbs up to sit next to her.

"You are one of the most impressive women I have ever met. I don't just mean your beauty, which knows no bounds, but your mind as well. I know the game you are playing, that you have had to play every day since your father's unfortunate fate. There are not many who could pull off what you have, and I think you underestimate yourself completely."

Tyrion reaches out for one of her hands, which have fallen to her lap.

"Sansa, you amaze me. Every time I look at you I think I must be dreaming, because surely someone as special as you cannot be married to myself, a mere joke of a man."

"Tyrion," she whispers, "you are _not_ a joke, and I don't ever want to hear you say something like that again. I—I'm starting to think— you are—"

She can't get the words out. She can't put what she's thinking into any coherent statement. Sansa is so confused; trying to understand how the things she's feeling could possibly coincide with her _Lannister_ husband. She settles on one thing there is no dispute to.

"I'm glad it was you they gave me to"

Her voice is so quiet; at first she's not sure he heard her, but then there is no mistaking the look of awe on his face.

"As am I."

Tyrion leans in, and at first Sansa doesn't understand why.

Then it hits her.

_He's going to kiss me._

His lips are soft, and warm, but she doesn't know what to do. Her stomach starts to flutter for the second time of the evening, but this time it is a strange, highly enjoyable sensation. She hears herself give a tiny moan, and immediately becomes self-conscious.

_Did he hear that? Should I be doing something? Will he be expecting more than this? I don't know what to do… I've only ever had one kiss before and that was a quick peck from Joffrey._

The name 'Joffrey' is like ice water, and Sansa Jerks away from Tyrion.

He looks just as flustered as she feels, and she her cheeks redden.

"Please, forgive me," Tyrion begs, " I didn't mean to force myself upon you."

"No!" Sansa objects. "You— you didn't. It's just I don't know what… I'm just… confused."

Sansa is frustrated. She's never been one to be at a loss for words, but she's starting to see a common recurrence around her husband.

"Understandable. I will try not to… overstep again. I don't wish to add to your confusion."

The sinking feeling in her stomach at his words feels oddly like disappointment.

~Tyrion~

Tyrion is cursing himself as he readies for bed. Silently, so as not to alert Sansa, who is changing just on the other side of the divider.

_You moved too soon, _he berates himself. _You've just pushed her further away!_

_She seemed like she was enjoying it._

_That's not the point! You've not earned her trust yet, don't test it already._

He can't stop replaying the brief kiss. Her tender lips, hesitant, yet yielding… Her honeyed breath, tasting sweeter than anything he'd ever had before.

He knows he'll have a hard time keeping his hands to himself tonight, knowing she'll be mere inches away.

"I'm done," Sansa calls softly.

Tyrion hurries to climb into bed, putting the candles out as he goes.

The hours pass slowly, or perhaps it is only minutes, he can't tell. He only knows that he is completely unprepared when Sansa drifts in her sleep to lazily curl up to him.

His breath catches as her arm comes to rest across his chest, pulling him closer.

_It is going to be a long night indeed._

* * *

**Author's Note:** Wow, you guys! Thank you for all the amazing feedback and support! Keep it coming :) On another note, somewhere in the next few chapters we'll be seeing our dear Jaime Lannister in King's Landing. I've decided I'm going to do a little time line altering around the Red Wedding. I won't give too much away, so just hang in there!


	7. Brazen

_**Seven**_

~Sansa~

When Sansa wakes in the morning she can feel a satisfied smile spread across her face. She's not sure what caused it, but last night was the best night of sleep she's had in months. She keeps her eyes closed, wanting to enjoy that luxurious feel of contentment that comes with being on the verge of wakefulness.

She stretches her legs, and the arm she isn't laying on. When it comes back down to rest, her brow furrows.

_What is that? _She thinks hazily.

Sansa had thought she was cuddling her pillow, but the closer she comes to full consciousness the more she starts to recognize the shape beneath her. She gradually traces her hand across the firm surface in a small circle.

_The surface is moving_, she realizes suddenly, and she understands. _You are cuddling your husband! _

Sansa sucks in a breath, hoping she hasn't woken Tyrion. From the position she is laying, it is obvious that she was the one to seek him out in the dark.

She's so embarrassed!

Slowly, and carefully, Sansa starts to lift her head and pull away from Tyrion. She's biting her lip in concentration when she gets far enough back for his face to come into view.

His eyes are wide open, and he is watching her with an impish smirk.

Sansa's cheeks flare red, and she looks away, ashamed of her body's childish need for closeness.

"Forgive me, my Lord," she says after a moment, her voice quiet and shaky. "I did not mean to invade your space. I must have done so while I was sleeping."

"There is nothing to forgive, my dear Lady. I promise it was not an imposition. In fact, that was the best rest I've had in quite a while."

Tyrion gives her a bright smile and sits up. Sansa is lying on her side, facing him, but her eyes are focused on the sheets.

"There is no shame in needing a bit of comfort. If it is something else you are worried about… after last night… I can assure you I kept my hands to myself," Tyrion tells her.

Her head pops up in surprise.

"No, of course not! I didn't think you, I mean, I know you would not do such a thing. You've proven that time and again. I'm just a bit embarrassed, I suppose, over how childish I must seem."

Tyrion laughs.

"Sansa, I can promise you that turning to your husband for a bit of comfort is the _least_ childish thing out there."

Sansa feels her cheeks burn even brighter when she gets his meaning, and something else a bit lower starts burning too. She's starting to recognize the feeling as… _arousal._

The heated look in Tyrion's eyes makes her wonder if he knows what she's feeling. Thinking that he might makes her feel even more flustered. Her chest is feeling tight, her lungs constricting. She knows if she doesn't do something she'll surely suffocate.

Sansa barely notices the distance closing, and the next thing she knows she's kissing him.

Her need to feel him close to her drives away the worries of her inexperience. In fact, the shocks vibrating through her body drive_ all_ her worries away until there is nothing but them.

All that matters is that they be closer.

Tyrion, having gotten over his initial shock at being attacked by his wife, snakes his hand into her fiery locks, pulling her closer and deepening the kiss.

Sansa's mouth opens as she moans, and Tyrion slips his tongue between her lips. This new sensation sends shivers throughout her and she experimentally tries to mimic his tongue's movements.

She thinks she's doing it right as Tyrion groans and leans back into the bed pulling her with him.

Sansa can barely comprehend what's happening. She's in sensory overload. She can feel his firm chest pressing against her breasts as she leans into him, her fingers are clutching at the soft material of his tunic, and his tongue is everywhere.

_Who knew kissing could be so… completely perfect?_

Tyrion's hand leaves her hair, slowly making it's way down her neck, her shoulder, her chest… his fingers have almost reached her breast when they hear the clatter of breakfast china.

"Oh! Please forgive me!" Pippa exclaims. "I thought you were sleeping. I'll— just be back a little later."

Sansa jerks away and the spell is broken. The need is gone and in it's place her embarrassment has returned tenfold.

~Tyrion~

Tyrion could flog the maid when she slams the dishes onto their table.

He doesn't know what came over Sansa, but there was no mistaking the fact that _she_ kissed _him_. When he saw that glazed look in her eye as she studied him he thought he'd lose it and pounce on _her_, but she surprised him by being the first to spring.

Last night's kiss, while replaying in his dreams all night, pales in comparison to the passionate embrace they just shared.

Unfortunately as soon as Sansa realized they were not alone, she snapped back to her normal distanced self. He could see the walls sliding back into place behind her eyes, and had to fight the urge not to verbally abuse the handmaiden.

"That won't be necessary," Tyrion groans, talking to Pippa, as Sansa pulls further away. "You can continue about your work now."

He gives Sansa one last wistful look before climbing out of bed and pulling some trousers on.

He runs through a list of fates he would like to subject Pippa through as he seats himself for breakfast.

_A quick beheading would be too kind… maybe a march through the streets while the low borns fling dung, and _then _a beheading._

Sansa joins him for the morning meal, but she is layered in her dressing gown and thoroughly distant. When he eats his fill, a quick task due to lack of appetite, Tyrion dresses and excuses himself. He thinks Sansa will probably be grateful for some alone time.

"Meet me here an hour before dusk. I should know by then if we'll be required to attend another family dinner," Tyrion says before heading out the door.

_She won't even meet my eyes._

When he finds Bronn, Tyrion is in an extremely foul mood.

"What's the matter with you then?" Bronn asks, taking one look at him.

"Who said anything is the matter?"

"No one had to say anything. I can see it on yer face. You look like a littleling who's had his sweets snatched away… and that's not a play on your size."

Tyrion sighs, and glares up at the sellsword. It doesn't have the desired effect so he gives in and tells Bronn what happened with Sansa.

Bronn whistles lowly.

"I'd have dragged the maid out by her hair right then," Bronn says, after the story is told.

"Considering her hair was a good two feet out of reach, I don't think that was an option. Besides, it was too late then. My lady wife had already reverted to her distant, proper self."

They walk quietly together, heading towards a solar in the Tower of the Hand where Tyrion attends to all the master of coin business. When they arrive, and both have heaping goblets of wine, Bronn starts laughing and shaking his head.

"What's so funny?" Tyrion asks, not amused.

"You. You are so… _pouty_. Most men would chop off their arm to be in the position you are in."

"And what position is that? Hated demon monkey of the Lannister family?"

"No. You are a high Lord, married to a beautiful young Lady, whose sons will inherit the north, might I add, and she has just started to discover her budding sexuality. Yet you pout," Bronn says.

"Well—" Tyrion starts.

"No. You will not defend your attitude to me. So, you're pissed the maid walked in. Get over it. Odds are Lady Sansa would have pulled away sooner or later. You'll need more than a few kind words to get under that shift."

"What would you suggest?"

"Romance," Bronn says nodding.

Tyrion snorts into his goblet.

"What would you know about romance?"

"Hey, I know plenty. Just because I don't have time to woo a lady, don't mean I don't know how."

"Do share your wisdom," Tyrion sniggers.

"I will. I'm going to help you win over your wife."

~Sansa~

Sansa lets Pippa help her dress, being too distracted to give it much thought herself. The handmaiden chatters away about this bit of gossip, or that, but Sansa pays no attention.

_You just… attacked him! Like some sort of loose woman. He probably thinks you're mad, or at the very least just another _heathen_ Northerner._

_ He didn't seem to mind, _she counters to herself.

_Yes, well, everyone knows he has a taste for whores. It was unladylike to do that. All the songs say the knight kisses his maiden fair. Not the maiden fair acts like she works in a brothel._

_ He isn't exactly a knight from the stories though, is he? _

Sansa contemplates that. No, Tyrion isn't at all like the knights, or heroes, from her favorite songs and stories. When she had first laid eyes upon him in Winterfell, she wondered how he would ever find a bride.

_And yet…_

When she looked at him, last night before he kissed her, and this morning before she pounced on him, she saw so much more than what she used to. She knows he is no knight, and no handsome prince, but Sansa has come to see that he is indeed handsome in his own way.

"Lady Sansa?" Pippa asks.

Sansa jerks out of her thoughts and turns to face her handmaiden. The look on Pippa's face suggests that wasn't the first time she tried to get Sansa's attention

"Yes?"

"Lady Margaery has requested you join her in her chambers for tea."

"Yes, of course."

Sansa checks over her appearance, and decides that Pippa did an adequate job. Her hair is done in the summer fashion of King's Landing, and she is wearing an amethyst colored silk gown.

Pippa escorts her all the way to Margaery's chambers, and Sansa feels a twinge of sadness when she thinks of Shae, wishing it were her here to be escort.

"Sansa! So glad you could make it," Margaery exclaims, when they enter. "You left rather abruptly the other day."

"Yes, do forgive me of that. I fear I may have reacted improperly."

Margaery laughs.

"Telling off Lady Kells was the highlight of the afternoon, if that's what you're talking about. After you left grandmother gave her a nice scolding as well."

Sansa can't help the smirk that forms. Lady Olena is known for her sharp tongue. She almost regrets not being there to see it.

"Come, sit," Margaery orders, gesturing her to small table set for two. "You must tell me how things are going with your handsome husband."

Sansa smiles, recalling a previous conversation with Lady Margaery. Sansa had just found out she was to marry Tyrion, and Margaery had reassured her, pointing out all of the good things about him. His kindness, his influence, his _experience_, and how handsome he was, especially with his scar.

"Things are… difficult," Sansa tells her.

"How so?"

Sansa isn't sure how much is appropriate to tell her. She wishes she had her mother to talk to about these things, or even Shae.

_But you don't…_

Realizing how great the need is to get things out in the open and talk to someone, Sansa starts spilling all the details of her last few days with Tyrion. Margaery listens with interest, only taking time to pour the both strong cups of tea.

"Wow," Margaery breathes, when Sansa finishes telling her story.

"I made such a fool of myself this morning!" Sansa fumes, trying to keep her tears at bay.

"What? No, no, no! Sweet child, you were perfect."

"He must think horribly of me for being so… brazen."

Margaery laughs.

"My dear, you could not have done better if you planned the whole thing. Trust me, he is not thinking ill of you. I bet he quite liked that you were the one to make a move."

"But only because he has a soft spot for whores. I acted as no Lady should," Sansa says, dabbing her eyes with a handkerchief.

"No, that isn't why," Margaery sighs. "Do you know why Lord Tyrion has visited so many brothels in his life? No? Well, think about it. Just look at him. I mean no offense to your husband, as you know I find him quite dashing, but there are not many women out there lining up to willingly climb into his bed."

"Isn't that why most men go to brothels?"

"Well, yes, but you're getting off subject. His whole life Tyrion has been rejected, you see the way people treat him. He thinks the only way he can find someone to be with him is when he pays them. Then here you come, sweet girl."

"We were forced to marry," Sansa objects. "He knows that."

"Yes, but no one forced you to kiss him. Don't you see what something like that would mean to him? For possibly the first time in his life, someone reached out to him, not because you were paid to, but because you wanted to. Wanted him," Margaery smiles. "Let me assure you, he does _not_ think ill of you. If anything he probably thinks you a goddess."

Sansa is unsure if she believes Lady Margaery's reassurances, but she just nods along anyways and lets the subject drop. They spend the rest of the afternoon talking about the upcoming royal wedding, and the changes Margaery hopes to make when she becomes queen.

They are just discussing the plans to have Cersei shipped off to High Garden, when Pippa returns to escort Sansa to dinner.

"We should meet again soon," Margaery says, hugging Sansa. "You'll have to keep me updated on how things are going."

"Yes, it is nice having someone to talk to about these things."

Sansa follows Pippa from the room and is surprised when the girl turns in the opposite direction from her chambers.

"Where are we going?" she asks. "Lord Tyrion instructed I meet him in our rooms."

"I just spoke with Lord Tyrion, my Lady, and he gave me other instructions."

Pippa says no more and continues walking, so Sansa hurries to follow her, confused.

_This is the wrong way from the royal dining room, too._

The handmaiden seems to be taking her towards the castle gardens, and sure enough the next thing she knows Pippa is signaling Sansa to go outside.

"What is going—" the words die in her throat as the garden comes into view.

_Maybe he does think I'm a goddess._

* * *

**Author's Note: **Hang in there, the really good stuff is coming! ;)


	8. Magical Retreat

_**Eight**_

~Sansa~

Sansa stares out at the door in wonder, unable to move. The garden has been turned into a scene from a fairy tale. The sun has almost set, and is so low in the sky only the orange glow of it is visible over the wall of roses. The path she is meant to take is clear. It's lined with lanterns while the stones are scattered with flower petals and a shimmering substance that looks like flakes of gold. The light from the lanterns reflects brightly off of the flecks illuminating the way.

She glances nervously over her shoulder at a smirking Pippa, who only nods. Sansa takes a deep breath and follows the glittering path; it winds around to the nearest archway leading away from the main courtyard. Beyond the arch she finds her husband standing beside a magnificently decorated table.

The table is set for two, and covered in a cloth made of golden silk. Additional flower petals are sprinkled across the tabletop, and the lanterns surrounding them are set to a more intimate glow.

"My lady," Tyrion says, approaching her.

He takes her hand and bows his head to kiss it.

"You are a vision," he insists.

"Thank you, my lord. This— is amazing. I just… don't even know what to say."

"Don't say anything," he says, leading her to the table, "just enjoy."

He helps her take her seat, even going as far as placing a napkin on her lap before moving to take his own place.

"Are you hungry?" he asks.

"Starved, " Sansa says.

Tyrion claps his hands and three servants appear from the main courtyard. Sansa is surprised, she didn't notice them when she came through, it's almost as if they magically appeared.

Each servant has a small plate of different starters for the first course. One has an array of olives, one has cheeses, and the third has a plate of bread, the thick hearty kind she prefers. As she helps herself to bread and cheese, Tyrion pours her a glass of wine from the decanter that was waiting on the table.

Sansa is just about to compliment his choice on starters when music starts up from behind her. She turns to see a lute player step from the shadows and begin pacing back and forth. He's playing one of her favorite songs, about a fair maiden rescued from an evil monster by the love of her life.

"How many more surprises do you have planned?" she asks, astonished.

"A few," Tyrion smirks, tilting his head to the side.

She can't control the smile that spreads across her face.

_I can't believe I ever thought he'd treat me poorly._

"You are amazing," she says quietly.

"For a Lannister?"

"For anyone."

The glow in his eyes at her praise causes her cheeks to burn. She's grateful for the shadows to hide her blush.

"I have a gift for you," Tyrion tells her.

"This is gift enough. I feel like I'm in a magical realm."

"Then humor me."

He holds out his hand to show her a beautiful ring pinched between his forefinger and thumb. It has a large sapphire decorating the silver band, with a diamond on either side.

"May I?" he asks.

Sansa holds her hand out and lets him place the ring on her finger.

"Perfect fit," he smiles, "and a perfect match for your pendant."

"You spoil me. It is gorgeous, thank you."

Just then the servants return with two new plates, one for each of them. The main course is a delicious smelling honeyed duck, another of her favorites.

The duck, of course, reminds Tyrion of one of his many anecdotes and he tells Sansa the story as they eat. Again she finds herself laughing at his tale, and truly feeling lighter than she has in months. The good company, soothing music, and magical surroundings almost make her forget where she is, and for that she is truly thankful.

As they finish up the main course Tyrion reaches inside his jacket to pull out a small wisp of cloth.

"I have a gift for you."

"Another?" she asks, astounded.

"And another after that."

A brief flash of worry hits her and she bites her lip out of habit.

"Has something happened?" she asks quietly. "To my… my family? Is that what this is all about?"

Tyrion looks surprised, and a little hurt.

"No, of course not. I know things have been difficult for you here at court, and you have suffered a lot. I just wanted to offer you an evening away from King's Landing. Here," he adds, passing her the cloth.

When she unfolds it she finds it is a beautifully embroidered handkerchief. It's not the item itself, but the artwork stitched into it that makes her eyes start to water.

"I know they took all of your items adorned with the Stark Household insignia away, and I didn't feel that was right," Tyrion explains.

In the center of the handkerchief is the head of a direwolf, but unlike regular Stark banners, this wolf is done in much greater detail. It doesn't take long for her to realize it's a picture of Lady.

"How did you—?" she asks, voice cracking.

"I had one of the guards who traveled with you on the King's Road describe her to a the woman who made that."

"Thank you."

"You'll have to keep it out of sight for the most—"

"Thank you," she repeats, interrupting him and taking his hand.

"You're welcome."

Dessert arrives soon after, giving Sansa just enough time to compose herself before they place the final tray before them.

"Lemon cakes! My favorite," she exclaims, taking one of the tasty pastries.

"So I've heard."

"One time, when I was a lot younger, Arya and I got into a fight at dinner and we were both sent to bed without dessert, which happened to be lemon cakes. After everyone went to bed I snuck down to the kitchens, trying to find some leftovers…"

"Lady Sansa!" Tyrion gasps, feigning indignation.

"I know, I know, quite the rebel. Anyway, I was skulking through the kitchen, and it was very dark, when all the sudden I bumped into this short little creature. It started biting and kicking at me, and scared the daylights out of me. Until I realized it was Arya, just before I was about to scream and bring the whole house down on our heads."

He starts laughing, no doubt clearly able to picture a terrified Sansa and rabid Arya.

"When I finally got her to stop attacking me, she confessed she was there looking for lemon cakes as well. We decided to team up, but unfortunately couldn't find any. So, with all the brilliance of an eight and five year old, we decided to make our own."

"And how did that turn out?"

"Well, funnily enough eight year olds are not good at baking, even with the help of a five year old whirlwind. We ended up making a huge mess! And so much noise one of the guards came into the kitchen with his sword drawn. Arya threatened him with a wooden spoon and he ran off to wake father."

Tyrion gives a low whistle.

"And how did Lord Stark react to his daughters trying to become bakers?"

"He was mad about the mess, but he was so impressed we were actually working together we weren't punished, well, too severely anyway."

Sansa smiles warmly at the memory. She can still picture the look of astonishment on her father's face when he walked into the kitchen to discover the place dusted with flour and lemon rinds, and the smile he fought to hide when they explained what they were doing.

She feels sad thinking about her father, but the good memory lightens the weight and she's glad she talked about it. She misses Winterfell.

~Tyrion~

He's so glad she has started opening up to him, but Tyrion can tell by wistful look on his wife's face, and the unshed tears in her eyes that she misses her home more than she would ever let on. The way her face lit up when she told him her story made his heart soar. He wishes she were always that happy, that her life wasn't so full of tragedy.

_One day she will be, and one day it won't be. I promise that. I will give her a life that she deserves and save her from these cruel people._

Not wanting her to get too overcome by grief, Tyrion pulls out his final gift for her.

"I have one last gift for you tonight, Sansa."

He passes her a small wooden box, eager for her to open it. She does so slowly, properly, even though he can see the excitement in her eyes.

She gasps at what she sees.

"They're beautiful! Is that—?"

"Obsidian? Yes," he smiles.

He had to pull some major strings to get them made so quickly, but Tyrion managed to get her a pair of dragon glass hair combs.

Sansa takes one of the combs from the box to inspect it, caressing its smooth surface lovingly. Suddenly she puts it back and stands up from the table.

"You're dismissed," she says, turning to the lute player.

Tyrion nods when the man looks at him for confirmation. When the musician leaves it's just he and Sansa left.

She's standing in front of him looking down at his face. The fireflies have come out and their glow combined with the lantern flames playing of Sansa's skin makes _him _almost believe this place were created with magic, instead of a purse of gold and very romantic sellsword.

Sansa graces him with another of her perfect smiles and kneels before him so they are at eye level.

"This has been the most magical evening," she says. "It is exactly what I had dreamed this place would be. Thank you, not only for your kindness, but for showing me I may not be as stupid as I thought for believing King's Landing could hold something special."

"My lady, you are not stupid, and this place would hold no magic without your presence."

Tyrion leans forward to place a gentle hand on her cheek, stroking the corner of her mouth with his thumb.

"I'm not doing this because of your gifts," she says quietly, "but because you are one of the only people to treat me like a human being since my father lost his head."

"Doing what?"

In answer Sansa leans in and places a gentle kiss on his lips. The intense need from this morning seems to be gone, but instead he feels a slow heat working its way through him.

Far too soon she pulls away and stands up. She offers him her hand and he eagerly takes it. They walk from the garden together, heading in the direction of their chambers.

When they come around the final corner, and see their door, Tyrion finds a very unwelcome sight in front of it.

"Can I help you?" Tyrion asks, tersely.

"There you are!" Tywin growls. "You need to come with me."

"Surely it can wait until morning?"

"No, it cannot. Your brother has returned to King's Landing."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Holy crap! Over 150 followers on this story, that's a new record for me :) Thank you for all of your kind words and encouragement. I haven't had a chance to reply to every review, but just know I do read them and appreciate them. If you have a direct question ( that isn't asking for spoilers lol) then I will get back to you as soon as I can. I hope you like this chapter, even though Tywin came in and interrupted their evening. Again thank you for the support!

Also, if you are interested, here is the inspiration for the ring (just remove spaces):

www. jewelryexpert catalog/ graphics/ Radiant-Sapphire-Ring-2 .gif


	9. Reunions

_**Nine**_

~Tyrion~

Tyrion stops dead in his tracks. Sansa's grip tightens on his hand, almost crushing his fingers.

"Jaime is back? Is he alright?"

"He's not dead," Tywin says. "Now, come with me... alone."

Tyrion nods and turns to face Sansa.

"I'm sorry to leave you, my lady. This is not how I pictured ending this evening," he tells her.

_I won't tell you what I pictured, though it would be worth it to see the shocked look on my father's face and the beautiful blush that comes so easy to your fair cheeks._

"I understand, my lord. You should see to your brother, I'm sure the tale of how he came to be here is a fascinating one."

He can see the curiosity and fear bright in her eyes, no doubt wondering if Jaime had to kill any of her family to escape.

"I'll try to be quick, but it would be best if you didn't wait up for me," Tyrion insists.

Sansa only nods before offering Tywin a small curtsy and entering their chambers alone.

_Jaime always did have the worst timing._

Tywin heads off, not bothering to accommodate his speed to Tyrion's small strides. By the time they reach Tywin's chambers in the Tower of the Hand, Tyrion is quite out of breath, but his discomfort is forgotten when he finally lays eyes on his brother.

"Jaime, thank the gods! I— oh... oh, no… Are you alright?" Tyrion asks, seeing the stump where Jaime's sword hand used to be.

"I'm not particularly happy… or in one piece… but I am alright," Jaime says, quietly.

"How did you escape?"

"Catelyn Stark."

"Did you—?" Tyrion starts, afraid to ask.

"I didn't kill her," Jaime scoffs. "She freed me."

"What? You were her son's best bargaining piece. Why would she just let you go?"

"Because your brother is a fool!" Tywin growls. "He made a promise he cannot keep, making a mockery of our name."

"I could keep it, if you weren't being so unreasonable!" Jaime shouts.

Tyrion, and Tywin for that matter, are shocked. Jaime never questions Tywin; he's always been the perfect son.

"What promise?" Tyrion asks.

"I promised Catelyn that in exchange for my freedom I would return her daughters to her. I was not aware that Cersei had let the younger one escape, or that Sansa had been married."

Tyrion is surprised at the amount of venom in Jaime's voice as he spit Cersei's name. He files that tidbit away as something to investigate later.

"Sansa is my bride."

"Hence the problem," Jaime grumbles.

"That is not the problem," Tywin booms, "the problem is that you made a deal you had no right to make! Whether the girl is married or not, I would not send her back to those damned northern fools."

"Why?" Jaime questions. "Offer her back along with a peace treaty! We have no love of the North, offer Robb Stark his kingship of the North and his sister back, the one you haven't lost, and he will end this damnable war."

"No!" Tyrion protests. "I will not have another marriage torn away from me. Offer your peace treaty, but you will not send my wife away."

The two other men in the room stare at him, one with a bored smirk and the other with full-blown skepticism.

"Do you care for the girl?" Jaime asks.

"It's becoming quite clear to anyone with eyes that your brother is infatuated the girl," Tywin says.

Tyrion looks away. He doesn't like having his feelings on display… especially around his family, who would turn his feelings into weaknesses if it suited them.

"Robb Stark would not accept a peace treaty without the return of his sister," Tywin insists, "and at least two of the people in this room are against giving the girl up. So, I will have to find a way to put an end to this debt you've incurred on my own because—"

"A Lannister always pays their debts," the brothers finish.

"At least I've taught you something."

Tywin gives them both a disgusted look before stalking out of the room.

"Tell me about your bride," Jaime requests.

"Tell me about your hand," Tyrion counters.

~Sansa~

Despite Tyrion's warning not to wait up for him, that's exactly what Sansa tries to do. After she changes into her night shift she starts pacing the chamber. She's so anxious after hearing about Ser Jaime's return to King's Landing.

_How did he escape Robb? What's happening? Is my family okay?_

She tries to keep her worried tears at bay, and picks up her embroidery to keep her busy. She's been neglecting it since her wedding, but now she relishes in the distraction. She's careful to make each stitch perfect, and precise. Sansa practices breathing rhythmically with the movement of her needle, finding the act both distracting and calming.

She hums quietly to herself, an old lullaby her mother used to sing to her, and doesn't here her chamber door creak open. It's the loud slamming that alerts her.

"Tyrion!" she exclaims jumping up and discarding her needlework.

Fear seeps into her belly, heavy as lead, when she sees it isn't her husband. Instead she finds Joffrey leaning against the closed door giving her one of his sickening self-satisfied smiles.

"Guess again, dear lady."

"Your grace… w—what are you doing here?" Sansa asks, crossing her arms over her chest.

She feels exposed in just her nightgown under his lecherous gaze.

"I knew my uncle would be busy with, well, my uncle and I thought you might be lonely. Missing the company of a man."

Joffrey saunters towards her, eyeing her like a predator stalking his prey. He walks in a slow circle around her, appraising her.

"Thank you for your concern, your grace, but I think I will be alright on my own. No need to trouble yourself over me."

"It's no trouble," Joffrey tells her reaching out to stroke her arm.

Sansa shudders in revulsion of his touch.

_No. No. No._

"Do you often sit around in your night things waiting to receive guests? It is very unladylike," Joffrey admonishes.

"It is late. I was not expecting visitors, and you didn't even knock… your grace."

"It is my castle, I do not have to knock. You are right about it being late, though. It's almost time for bed. Is this how you sleep after my uncle is done with you? In your shift? Or do you remain naked, just waiting in case he has more need of you?"

Sansa flushes and looks away. Joffrey's hand grabs her wrist tightly.

"Answer me," he snarls.

"I— sleep in my shift, your grace."

He clicks his tongue, and starts pushing her backwards towards the chaise. When the backs of her knees hit the edge she starts to panic. Sansa tries to pull her wrist from his biting grasp, but his fingers only tighten.

"Are you going to be an ungracious guest? As I said this is my castle, you are only here because I allow it."

"If I am a burden, your grace, you could always send me home," Sansa offers.

Joffrey snorts.

"I think not. They only way _any_ part of you could leave this castle would be your head in a box, addressed to your traitor brother. So, if you wish to prevent that, I suggest you be a bit more accommodating of your king. I could always have Ser Meryn come in and join us. He's just outside after all," Joffrey says, gesturing towards the chamber door.

Sansa swallows back the bile threatening to rise.

"That will be unnecessary, your grace," she says, taking a seat.

"That's a good girl."

Joffrey sets down next to her, and drapes an arm across her shoulders. She tries to hide her fear, knowing it only encourages him. Sansa keeps her chin high and looks at him defiantly.

_Tyrion, come back. I need you._

Joffrey starts playing with her hair, running his fingers through it and twisting the curls around his fingers.

"You must feel very honored I have come to you. You are very beautiful, much more so than my demon monkey uncle deserves."

She remains silent, and when he realizes she isn't going to respond Joffrey twists her hair into a cruel fist and yanks her head back. She hisses at the pain, but he ignores her and presses his face close to hers.

"Your king just paid you a compliment."

"Yes, your grace, thank you. I am very honored."

"Then I shall honor you some more," he smiles wickedly, pushing her against the chaise.

Joffrey forces his knee between her legs, and Sansa starts shaking her head no. She tries to think of something to say that won't make things worse.

"P—Please, your grace. I am a traitor's daughter…I'm not worthy. You shouldn't sully yourself."

He just laughs at her.

"I'll take a bath after."

He reaches down, wrapping his fingers softly around her neck and the true fear sets in. Instead of squeezing, as she expects he starts to run his hand lower, stopping when he cups her breast.

A huge commotion in the hallway interrupts and Joffrey swears. He grabs Sansa's hair again and pulls her up to give her a brusque kiss, she tries to pull away but he bites her lip and she gives in. She doesn't fight she just sits there as he attacks her mouth.

"We aren't done here," he insists when he at last pulls away.

Joffrey stands up and marches across the room, flinging the door open.

"What is going on out here?" he demands.

"Lord Tyrion sent me to check on Lady Sansa, and Meryn wouldn't let me in," she hears Bronn say from the hall.

"I'm done here, let the slut attend to the next one," Joffrey sneers storming away.

With Joffrey and Ser Meryn gone, Bronn rushes in to find Sansa nearly in tears.

"Are you alright, my lady? Did he harm you?" Bronn asks, surprising her with the concern in his voice.

"Fine, thank you," she mumbles.

"I don't believe that."

Sansa stands to check her appearance in the mirror, and can see why he wouldn't believe her. Her hair is in knots, her cheeks blotchy, and her bottom lip is bruised and swollen.

"Tyrion sent you?" she asks, picking up a brush and trying to comb out the mess.

"No. I was just down this way when I saw Meryn outside your room. I know the Kingslayer has returned and thought you might be alone here. I wanted to be sure you weren't being harmed."

"I thank you, kind ser. You arrived just in time."

She puts the brush back down and wets a cloth from a basin to wash her face. She scrubs her tears away, and places the cool cloth on her lip.

"I must tell Lord Tyrion about this, he—"

"No!" she exclaims, dropping the cloth. "He mustn't know!"

"My lady, it is his right. He should know that Joffrey has been… threatening you."

"Why? So he can put himself in more danger? That's what will happen. He will confront the king and end up with his head on a spike. I will not have his death on my conscious. You must not tell him!" Sansa insists.

"I work for your husband."

"Yes, you do. It is your job to protect him. Having this knowledge will only endanger him. Don't tell him, _I_ can handle Joffrey."

Bronn sighs and seems to consider her words.

"Fine. I won't say anything _this time_, but if it happens again, I must tell him."

"Thank you," she gushes, relieved.

Bronn just nods.

"What's going on in here?"

Sansa's eyes dart to the door, and she can't help the relief that floods her when she sees Tyrion standing there. She knows she's being too open with her feelings, and that both men can clearly read her reaction, but she doesn't care. She's feeling hurt and vulnerable and all that matters in that moment is the small man looking at her with nothing but kindness in his gaze.

"Were I a jealous man, I would be suspicious of my best friend in my bed chambers with my semi dressed wife," Tyrion muses.

"I was just checking on the lady, my lord," Bronn says stiffly.

"He saw Ser Meryn roaming these halls and wanted to be sure no one was bothering me," Sansa tells Tyrion.

"I don't think Lady Sansa should be without a guard when you are not around," Bronn insists. "There are too many enemies within these walls."

Tyrion seems to consider this for a moment and nods.

"You make a good point. I'll be sure to notify you next time I am called away so you can protect my lady, Bronn."

"As you wish."

Bronn nods a goodbye to the both of them and excuses himself, but not before giving Sansa a withering look that clearly says, _"tell him._"

"I told you not to wait up for me," Tyrion smirks, taking her hand to kiss it.

"How is your brother?" she asks, ignoring him.

Tyrion sighs wearily.

"Can we talk about it in the morning, I am exhausted. I will assure that none of your family were harmed."

Sansa lets out a deep breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

"Yes, it can wait until morning."

Tyrion helps her put the candles out and when they climb into bed, Sansa doesn't hesitate to curl up to him. She needs his warmth and comfort after her encounter with the king.

It doesn't take long for her to drift off to sleep. She vaguely realizes someone is pressing a kiss to her forehead before she falls into dreams of a magical garden and a handsome knight.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Again, I want to thank you for all of your wonderful reviews and words of encouragement, they mean a lot and really do keep me motivated. All of you waiting patiently (or not so patiently) for the M material, I don't want to give you spoilers but your wait will be over soon ;)

On another note: Did anyone else practically squeal with excitement from the adorable interactions between our favorite pair in the season finale? Ah, I just loved it!


	10. Opening Up

**Warning:** M rated material in the beginning...

* * *

_**Ten**_

~Tyrion~

_In the middle of the night, unable to ignore her close proximity any longer, Tyrion reaches out to Sansa. She is curled to his side, sleeping. He twists to face her, and brushes a soft curl away from her face. _

_ Still she sleeps._

_ He caresses her cheek, eliciting a small smile from her, and he can't keep himself from leaning forward and peppering her fair skin with delicate kisses. It must tickle her, because Sansa smiles again and rolls onto her back. Sleepily, her eyes start to open._

_ "What are you doing?" she asks, voice thick and tired._

_ "I cannot contain myself any longer, my lady, you are far too beautiful," he explains, cupping her cheek._

_ She bites her lip nervously, her expression drowsy, as she studies him. Suddenly her eyes brighten and she reaches up to pull him to her. Her lips are just as sweet as he recalls, and all rational thought starts to slip away._

_ Sansa's insistence is fierce and Tyrion is shocked at the need radiating from her. Her fingers are twined in his hair, and she protests when he starts to pull away._

_ "Please," he insists, "let me look at you."_

_ She doesn't hesitate after he makes his request. Sansa sits up and pulls the nightgown off over her head. The moonlight shines in through their bedroom window, reflecting off of her milky skin._

_ "You are a vision of perfection," he whispers._

_ "And you are too far away," she says seductively, reaching out to him again._

_ Tyrion pushes her back down on the bed and lies on his side next to her, studying her naked form. He smirks mischievously and starts gently tracing circles on her stomach. _

_ His fingers trail up between her breasts then over and around her nipples, just close enough to tease. Sansa shudders beneath his taunting touch. He traces his fingers back down her stomach stopping just short of her curls._

_ She wiggles impatiently and he can't help the chuckle that escapes his lips._

_ Sansa gives him a fierce glare and flips on her side. This time it is _she_ who pushes _him_ back onto the bed._

_ She reaches under his tunic, her fingers warm and sure on his chest. Sansa dips her head to kiss him, just a quick peck on the lips before brushing kisses along his brow and checks. _

_ She pushes his tunic up to bare his chest and her lips trail down the newly exposed flesh. Tyrion feels himself come to full attention, his member straining against the constraints of his shorts. _

_ He groans as she nips him lightly with her teeth, just above the waist of his shorts. She gives him a bright grin._

_ "I won't be as cruel as you," Sansa purrs, pulling his shorts off._

_ Tyrion thinks his heart will stop when her small hand grabs him and gives a firm squeeze, and he knows it stops when she places a wet kiss on the tip._

Tyrion jolts awake suddenly and groans when he realizes it was just a dream. He groans again when he feels the sticky mess clinging to his thigh. Cursing himself, he glances at Sansa, still asleep in his arms and feels a small bit of relief knowing she is oblivious to his nocturnal rendezvous.

She has a small smile on her lips, and though he hates to wake her, he is too uncomfortable to stay in his current position.

Tyrion tries to gently shrug her off, but is mostly unsuccessful. As soon as she is out of his arms, Sansa's eyes pop open.

There is a momentary look of panic in her eyes as she searches the room, but it vanishes when she sees him.

His chest swells.

He doesn't like her panic, but Tyrion is flattered that he seems to be able to banish it.

_Perhaps the day will come when my dream will be a reality._

He smirks at the thought, but tries to hide it. If his wife notices his leering grin and sticky nightclothes she might not feel as safe in his arms.

"You're up early," Sansa remarks, laying on her side facing him.

"I have a long day ahead of me. I was hoping to spend more time with Jaime."

"Do you have time to…" her sentence dies off, and she looks away.

Tyrion's mind immediately falls into the gutter, and it takes him a moment to pick up on where she was going.

"Oh! Yes, of course. I have time to share news of your family. I'll call for an early breakfast and then we can discuss it."

The relief on her face is evident at not having to voice her request. She's still uneasy about showing interest in her family, despite all his assurances.

Tyrion calls for Podrick to bring them breakfast, and he dresses in something more appropriate for the day, and a little less sticky. Sansa dons a dressing gown and waits impatiently at the table. To almost everyone she would appear the vision of bored indifference.

Tyrion isn't everyone.

He's starting to recognize her tics and notice how her nerves display themselves when she thinks they're hidden. Her eyes slowly scan every detail around her while her face remains bored. Her hands gently smooth the wrinkles from her lap, and the most telling, she gently adjusts her hair.

When breakfast finally arrives and Tyrion sits down next to her, he can tell she is finding it harder to keep up the indifferent façade.

"Your brother and mother are in excellent health," Tyrion finally says.

Sansa sighs in relief, despite the assurances he already gave her the night before.

"And no one was injured in Ser Jaime's escape?" she asks.

"He didn't escape."

"I— I don't understand."

"Your mother released Jaime."

"Why would she do that?" Sansa asks, shocked. "Did Robb order it?"

"Your brother did not order it, and from what I hear, is very angry with Lady Stark for what she did. Your mother let Jaime go after offering him a deal."

"What deal?"

"She would release him, and in return he was to return you and your sister, Arya, to your family," he explains.

Tyrion tries not to let the spark of hope in Sansa's eyes bother him.

_Of course she wants to go home. You would want to as well._

"I am sorry to tell you, my father has refused this exchange. For one, we do not know the location of your sister, and he insisted that as Jaime was missing for many months, he was not authorized to make that kind of bargain."

She casts her eyes down, and seems to think carefully before answering.

"Of course, my Lord. Besides, King's Landing _is_ my home."

"Sansa…" Tyrion can't stop himself from rolling his eyes.

"Please inform Lord Tywin that I would be happy to write to my lady mother and point out that Ser Jaime's bargain has been at least halfway paid," she continues. "The people here are my family, and therefore I need not be relocated."

"Damn it, don't do that!" he exclaims, smacking the table causing Sansa to jump. "I know you don't feel that way. How many times must I assure you there is no need to spew that nonsense to me?"

She's quiet for so long, he doesn't expect her to answer.

"That nonsense is what has kept me alive this past year." Her voice is quiet, but the measured anger in her tone is deafening. "What would you have me do? Sulk around our chambers and pointing out at every chance how much I hate the Queen, or telling you how many times I imagined throwing myself from a tower window in my wedding dress if I were forced to marry Joffrey? Should I voice how much I love and miss the North, or my family? If I do any of that, if I get comfortable saying those things, how do I know I won't slip up and say something to the wrong person?"

"You wouldn't—" he starts.

"No," she shakes her head, interrupting him. "Do not say it wouldn't happen. You don't understand. Every time I open up to you and speak of my family, it gets harder to close that part of myself back up. Don't take any of this personally; I do trust that you mean me no harm. You've proven that time and again. I enjoy sharing my stories with you. At dinner I loved telling you about Arya and I. It was amazing to talk about, but it was hard to close myself off afterwards."

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"I mean, I have to be hardened when it comes to my family. If someone mentions my father losing his head I can't cry, I have to nod and agree he was a traitor. If someone had asked me about Arya last night after dinner, I would have burst into tears."

He thinks this over and mentally kicks himself for being so insensitive. He knew how strong she had to be, how smart she had to be, to survive here at court, but he never considered how hard it must be for her when he asked her to be honest.

"What you're saying is you need time to prepare yourself after talking, or thinking of your family?" he verifies.

She nods.

"I can't just flip a switch."

Tyrion considers this.

After a moment he can't help but comment on something else she mentioned.

"Did you really imagine jumping from a tower in your wedding dress?"

"Yes," she smirks. "I thought it would be quite the memorable sight. It would probably have inspired a tragic song about the would-be-queen."

He chuckles.

At that moment Podrick and Pippa both enter the room.

"Pippa, out," Tyrion orders.

The maid looks confused and ready to protest but seems to think better of it at the last second.

"Podrick," Tyrion says, "It seems Lady Sansa and I have come down with something. Can you inform my brother I won't be meeting him today, or tomorrow for that matter? Also, we may be contagious, so the only person who is to enter this room is you, and then only at meal times. Please inform Sansa's handmaiden of this. That is all."

Podrick looks a little uncertain, but has learned not to question Tyrion's peculiarities. He nods and slowly exits the room.

"Now," Tyrion smiles, looking at a stunned Sansa, "You have plenty of time to tell me more of your stories and still close yourself off before dealing with anyone else."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Okay, so the dream was a little bit of a cheat and a tease :P I wanted to give all the M material cravers a little something without rushing our main characters. Hope you liked this chapter, and sorry it took all weekend to get it to you! Thanks for all the continued support, and let me know what you think :)


	11. Discoveries

_**Eleven**_

~Sansa~

They got to spend two and a half days locked away together before Tywin himself came pounding on the door, demanding their presence at dinner.

In those two days Sansa developed a new understanding for her Lannister husband. They shared stories of their childhoods while sipping spiced wine, and though her head grew foggy the more she drank, Sansa started to realize something. While many of her stories involved her brothers and sister, or her parents, Tyrion's only ever involved Jaime.

When she finally worked up the courage to ask him why his stories were only about Jaime, he just laughed.

"Jaime was the only member of my family I ever spent time with."

"What about Cersei? Or your father?"

"Cersei hated me, still does in fact, for killing our mother. She died giving birth to me, and Cersei has never forgiven me. My father blames me as well."

"That's ridiculous. There is nothing to forgive. They are imbeciles if they think that!" Sansa scoffed. "I bet your mother would not blame you if she were here."

"You're too kind… much too kind for a demon monkey like myself. I'm _quite _the dream husband, I know."

"Now, now. I am the disgraced daughter of the traitor Ned Stark, it seems we are a perfect match," she smirked.

"I'm starting to believe so," Tyrion said, so quietly Sansa wondered if she misheard.

When they weren't reliving their childhoods, Tyrion taught her to play chess. She was certain he threw a few games, but he just assured her that his teaching prowess must have been even greater than he imagined. In return for Tyrion teaching Sansa chess, she tried to show him how to do needlepoint.

She was shocked to see how quickly he picked it up when, after only an hour's time, he showed her an elaborately stitched curse word that made her blush.

"Are you just talented at everything?" she asked.

"Many things," he answered with a wink, "but I may have deceived you. I already have a basic knowledge of this craft."

"How?"

"When all the other little boys were out playing knights, I wasn't allowed to join them. My father feared I would embarrass our house. So, I spent my time locked away with my nanny, when Jaime was not around, and after repeatedly begging out of boredom, she showed me how."

"And your father was okay with _that_?" She asked incredulously.

"Well, he didn't find out for a few months. That's how long it took him to notice that I'd been stitching this word," he held up his needlepoint, "onto all of his clothes."

Despite the crassness of it, Sansa couldn't help the laughter that bubbled up at the thought of Lord Tywin sauntering around Casterly Rock with the word 'cunt' sewn into his sleeve.

"Please tell me Cersei suffered a similar branding?" Sansa asked, still grinning.

"Oh, yes… though I wasn't as subtle with hers. I remember being banished from her and Jaime's name day festivities when she opened up my present, a extravagantly monogrammed gown. The laughter erupting through the hall when she pulled it put of its wrappings kept me strong while I received my lashing later."

When she was finally able to control her giggling, Sansa could only stare at Tyrion in wonder.

"You are amazing. How were you born into such a family?" She asked, and then immediately regretted it. "Forgive me, I did not mean—"

"Sansa, don't… I've often asked myself the same question."

Once they would climb into bed Sansa would immediately curl up to Tyrion. She knew she would do it in her sleep anyway, and she feels better close to him. He seems to keep her nightmares at bay.

When the time comes to finally leave their room and be burdened by the presence of other people, Sansa is a little nervous. After two days of not having to hold her tongue, or guard her expression, she just hopes she doesn't let anything slip.

She dresses in green silks and is pleasantly surprised to see Tyrion has dressed to match her. She can't believe how different he looks to her now than he did when they first met. Sansa can't look at him without thinking how handsome he is, and have her stomach start fluttering. She briefly wonders what it would be like to have him as a lover.

"Sansa? Are you ready to go? You look a bit flushed. You haven't _actually_ come down with something have you?" Tyrion asks, studying her.

"What? No! I'm fine… ready to go if you are."

Tyrion opens the door and gestures her to go first.

They go to the same dining room as before, but this time Tommen is missing, in his place is Jaime.

Sansa is careful not to stare at his stump, having been prepared by Tyrion beforehand.

"Ah, my new sister," Jaime says loudly, standing. "Why don't you sit across from me so we can get to know one another. I'd love to get to know you just as well as my twin. You are a welcome addition."

Sansa is certain she isn't the only one to catch the double meaning behind his words, if Tywin's scowl and Cersei's burning eyes are any hint. She's also certain, thanks to Tyrion's tip about Jaime being mad at Cersei over something, that his words are meant to elicit that exact response.

"Thank you, I would like that," she smiles sweetly, taking a seat across from Jaime, and unfortunately to the right of Joffrey who sits at the end of the table.

Tyrion seats himself to her right, across from Cersei and next to Tywin. The servants immediately begin serving them, and the table is quiet while everyone gets situated.

The quiet doesn't hold. Soon Tywin is discussing war tactics with a bored Tyrion and enthusiastic Cersei. Tywin seems to be trying for Jaime's attention, but without success.

"How are you enjoying King's Landing?" Jaime asks Sansa.

"I'm finding it most pleasurable, Ser."

"Indeed, she is, uncle," Joffrey smirks, sliding his hand up her thigh under the table. "Sansa knows how to keep herself busy."

"Glad to hear it."

Sansa tries to keep the grimace off her face, but the odd look Ser Jaime is giving her tells her she isn't succeeding. She grasps for a topic, trying to ignore Joffrey's fingers biting into her leg.

"I was glad to hear of your safe return, " she says. "I am sorry for what you must have suffered at the hands of my treasonous relatives."

Jaime looks at her peculiarly.

"They miss you," Jaime says quietly. "That's why your mother released me."

Joffrey's hand pulls away from her.

"Jaime!" Tywin growls, having stopped talking just in time to hear Jaime's proclamation.

"Tyrion has informed me about what you had to agree to for your freedom," Sansa says. "I know that as being a member of the Kingsguard honor is very important to you, which is why I wanted to reassure you that your debt has already been paid."

"How is that?" Jaime asks, confused.

Sansa glances over to see that Tywin and Cersei are both watching her intently, while Tyrion is emptying his glass of wine.

"As Lord Tywin explained to me the last time we had dinner together, you are all my family now, so there is no need for me to be relocated. Also, you had no knowledge Arya was no longer in the capital, so you cannot be held to that word. If you would like, I would be more than willing to write my lady mother and point all this out to her."

Sansa's words cause an array of reactions. Tywin has a satisfied smirk, Cersei is glaring at her with suspicion, Tyrion is bored, and Jaime is in shock.

Joffrey's hand finds it way back to her thigh.

"See, uncle, she wants to be here," he says brightly.

Jaime doesn't say anything; he just studies her as the rest of the table continues on with their war talk.

By the time dessert arrives Sansa can barely keep the bile down, let alone take another bite. For the second half of the last course Joffrey has been trying to inch her skirt up beneath the table. She's tried to keep her expression neutral, but Jaime keeps looking back and forth between her and Joffrey questioningly.

Finally she can't take it. Sansa places her napkin on her plate and scoots her chair away from the table.

"I'm so sorry," she apologizes. "Please excuse me, I'm not feeling well."

Without waiting for a response Sansa rushes from the room.

~Jaime~

Jaime watches Sansa dash out the door

"I should go check on her," Tyrion says, standing up.

"Wait, I'm not finished talking with you," Tywin instructs, demanding attention.

Tyrion sighs but obliges.

"Well, that was rude," Cersei scoffs, leaning over to talk to Jaime. "Northerners," she sighs.

"She and Tyrion have been ill, perhaps she has not yet recovered," Jaime offers.

Cersei waves his comment off and tries to change the subject.

"Are you coming by my chambers later?" she whispers.

"I have told you, repeatedly, I have no interest in ever being in your chambers again," he says quietly through gritted teeth.

"You can't stay mad at me forever."

Jaime ignores her and instead turns his attention to Joffrey who is slinking out of the room.

_What the hell is he up to?_ Jaime wonders, despite having a pretty good idea.

Sansa had been wearing the same expression as Jaime throughout dinner, and _he_ had been trying to keep Cersei's hands out of his crotch. The woman is persistent, and apparently their son had inherited that from her.

"Excuse me," he says brusquely, standing up.

Ignoring Cersei's indignant huff, he hurries from the room to follow Joffrey.

He doesn't have far to go.

Jamie hears their voices before he sees them, coming from an alcove.

"Please, just leave me be," Sansa begs.

"You ungrateful whore."

_SMACK!_

Sansa gasps and that's all Jaime needs to spring into action.

"What is going on here?" he demands, stepping into view.

Joffrey has Sansa pinned against the wall. She's cupping her cheek, and he's groping her breasts.

The fear in Sansa's eyes drives him forward.

Jaime grabs Joffrey by the back of his tunic and pulls him away from the girl.

"You have no right to manhandle me this way!" Joffrey screeches.

"And you have no right to attack this poor girl who, might I add, is legally your aunt!" Jaime counters.

"I am the KING! I have every right!"

"You are a lousy king if you think being a leader gives you the right to rape and molest. Run along to your chambers, _your grace_," Jamie sneers, "or I will teach you a lesson you won't soon forget."

Joffrey sputters, speechless, before turning on heel and marching away the direction they came.

"Are you alright?" Jaime asks, slowly stepping towards Sansa.

"Yes, thank you."

She lowers her hand and he can see that the corner of her lip is bleeding. He pulls out a handkerchief and offers it to her.

"Thank you," she repeats softly.

"Has this happened before?" Jaime asks.

She refuses to meet his eyes, which he takes for a 'yes.'

"Still say you're finding King's Landing pleasurable?"

"King's Landing is where I belong," she says in a tone that suggests this is an automatic response.

Jaime glances around, and after being sure no one is around steps in a bit closer.

"Do you want to go home?" he asks.

"This is my home."

"I mean to your mother. I gave her my word. I know they call me oathbreaker, but my word means a lot to me. Say the word and I'll get you out of here," he whispers.

He can tell she doesn't believe him, but he doesn't get a chance to reiterate the offer. He hears footsteps approaching.

It's Tyrion.

"Who pissed in Joffrey's porridge?" he asks, coming around the corner. Then, after seeing Sansa, "what happened?"

Jaime glances at the girl, who shakes her head furiously, and steps towards Tyrion.

"We need to talk."

* * *

**Author's Note:** Sorry about the long wait on this one! I'm in my very last semester of college now, and it is only a month long summer semester, but I have two classes with coursework that is usually completed over the span of four months, so things are a bit hectic. Throw in wrangling a 1 yr old and I'm surprised I have time to eat and sleep let alone write. Your support and reviews make it all worth it though! I'm hoping to have another chapter up before the week is out, so hang in there :)

On another note, I've gotten a few PMs asking some similar questions, or stating some similar things so I'd like to adress them here:

_Will I be including the Red Wedding?_ That would be a big spoiler. So, let's just say I'm not ruling it out, but don't always expect me to follow the canon story line.

_Your representation of the characters is out of character:_ I try to stay as close to character as possible, I promise, but since this story is so different from the canon story they aren't always going to be exactly how you think they should. If you feel I am being completely out there, feel free to message me and I'll walk you through my thought process on the scene. I don't mean to sound sarcastic (as often happens via internet), I honestly mean I will walk you through it. I usually have a list of reasons why they do what they do.

Sorry that was a long winded note! Let me know what you think!


	12. The King's Indiscretions

_**Twelve**_

~Tyrion~

"We need to talk," Jaime insists.

"It seems that we do," Tyrion replies, studying Sansa's stricken expression, and taking note of Jaime's Lannister red handkerchief pressed against her lip.

It doesn't take a clever man to add two and two together, and Tyrion considers himself much more than a clever man. He's sure the discussion to come involves why his nephew stormed off in a pout, muttering to himself.

"I doubt this is a conversation suited to the hallways. The walls have many eyes and ears. Let's go to mine and Sansa's chambers," Tyrion offers.

Jaime nods in agreement and they set off, Sansa trailing just a few steps behind Tyrion, and Jaime just behind her.

It's a short walk, lengthened by the strained silence that hangs over them. Tyrion is feeling apprehensive when they finally reach privacy. He wants to know what exactly is going on, but knows he won't like it one bit.

"What is going on?" he demands, closing the chamber door.

Sansa ignores his look and goes to her vanity where she begins organizing the trinkets on its surface, her back turned to the Lannister brothers.

"Joffrey was rather too friendly under the table during dinner," Jaime answers, disgust clear in his voice. "Then when Sansa left he followed her. When I went to see if she was all right, I found Joffrey had her backed against a wall and he was groping her. I stepped in when she tried to get away and he struck her."

_Jaime to the rescue._

Tyrion feels a deep fury settle over him, and his face contorts into a mask of loathing. Jaime's involuntary step back makes Tyrion remember his scarred face and briefly wonder if he finally looks like the monster everyone mistakes him for.

Tyrion has wondered if Joffrey was still plaguing Sansa. He knew the boy wouldn't give up just because of her marriage, but Tyrion wasn't aware the problem had continued to escalate so quickly. Most of his anger is funneled towards his nephew, but a small beam slides its focus to Jaime.

"Maybe you shouldn't have made such a show of 'needing' Sansa's attention just to piss Cersei off!" Tyrion accuses.

"What?" Jaime asks, clearly confused.

"If you would have let Sansa sit next to father, as I had planned, this wouldn't have happened."

Even as Tyrion says the words he knows they are a lie, but he can't keep the resentment from spilling out.

Jaime may be his favorite family member, and may have always been the kindest to Tyrion, but that doesn't erase the fact that he has also continuously been the perfect son and handsome knight. This is something Tyrion has always accepted, but for some reason he finds himself a little less forgiving of Jaime's perfection in the presence of Sansa and her love for fairytale knights.

Tyrion can tell his accusation hurt Jaime, and feels the smallest twinge of guilt.

"This isn't the first time this has happened," Jaime says, trying to keep his voice calm.

"What? How do you know?" Tyrion asks.

"She wouldn't say as much, but I'm positive this has happened before. Her expression was pretty easy to read when I asked."

Tyrion looks at Sansa who has given up trying to keep her hands busy, and instead has her head bowed. She still refuses to face them.

Jamie prepares to take his leave, bowing to whisper to Tyrion by the door.

"Joffrey isn't going to scare off so easily. I don't think Sansa should be without a guard when you aren't around."

"That's what Bronn said," Tyrion replies quietly, things clicking into place. "Thank you for your assistance."

Jaime nods and stands back up.

"Goodnight, Lady Sansa. Consider what I said."

Tyrion shakes his head, already deciding that Sansa should indeed always have a guard when he isn't around.

When the door closes behind Jaime, Tyrion turns on Sansa.

"Bronn knows something, doesn't he? That's why he insisted you have a guard?"

Sansa remains quiet, but begins to undo her hair.

"He walked in on something. Why wouldn't you tell me? Did you think I wouldn't do anything about it?" Tyrion questions, feeling hurt. "Or do you think so little of me that you think I _couldn't_ do something about it?"

Still she's silent.

"Answer me!" Tyrion demands, grabbing her arm and twisting her to face him.

Tears are silently streaking down Sansa's face, and Tyrion feels like an imbecile. She _looks_ to be in perfect health, but he didn't stop to think how she might be doing emotionally.

"I'm sorry, my Lady. I didn't think about how you must be feeling. Forgive my tone."

Sansa pulls her arm from his grasp.

"Do _you_ think so little of me that you believe I would think such things about you? You must be quite blind not to see it…" she mumbles.

"See what?"

"To see how much I've come to rely on you! Gods help me, but I actually enjoy and need a _Lannister_ in my life!"

Though her outburst sends a trickle of warmth through him, Tyrion doesn't let it distract him. Sansa can be a master of changing topics when she wants to be.

"What does that have to do with you keeping Joffrey's harassment a secret from me?" he asks.

Sansa drops onto her knees, making herself at eye level with Tyrion.

"What would you have done had I told you that Joffrey has been groping me and threatening to rape me at every chance he gets?" she asks.

"I would have cornered the little bastard and told him if he ever lay another finger on you I would cut his throat. I still might, actually."

"Exactly."

"I don't understand," Tyrion says, confused.

"I knew if I told you that you would run off and threaten the _king_. You barely made it out of that drunken mess you made at our wedding feast. You wouldn't live through another threat. I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to get hurt," she explains, cupping his cheek with a gentle hand, "especially because of me."

Tyrion places his hand over hers, leaning into her touch.

"You could have told me that as well," he offers.

"No."

"No?"

"I wasn't ready to admit… that I cared."

Tyrion squeezes her hand. He doesn't know what to say. He _wants _to tell her that every day he is with her is a gift, and he can't imagine anyone more perfect for him than she, but he holds back.

_She said she cares about me… that doesn't necessarily mean what I want it to. She could just mean that she cares about me as a friend_. _I know plenty of people that I wouldn't want to see harmed, that doesn't mean I want to bed all of them._

"Sansa, I'm sure you know that I care for you as well. Which is why I want you to tell me when someone is bothering, or threatening you. I refuse to let that stand. You deserve so much more than that." _More than I can ever give, though I'll try my hardest if only you'll let me. _"Promise to tell me if this happens again, and I promise not to do anything rash. Okay?"

"Okay."

"I won't let anyone hurt you."

~Sansa~

Looking into Tyrion's eyes, Sansa believes he truly means it and feels even safer in his presence. A familiar tingling starts in her abdomen as she looks at his scarred, yet perfect face.

_It really isn't so bad,_ she thinks, unconsciously tracing a finger along the angry pink line, _in fact I think it's dashing. It is a badge of honor displaying his bravery and valor. It's a reminder that everyone in this city owes their safety to him. My brave husband…_

When she realizes her hand is caressing the mark, she blushes and turns her eyes away. She can see his small smile out of the corner of her eye as he catches her hand and helps her to her feet.

Sansa finishes taking her hair down without another word, and begins changing for bed. When she is in her night shift, Tyrion pours her a glass of wine and pats the place nest to him on the lounge. She joins him and takes the glass, offering thanks.

"If it is too uncomfortable to talk about, I understand, but I was wondering if you could tell me about the times Joffrey has been… inappropriate with you. It might give me insight into how best to head him off. And honestly, it might do you good to talk about it."

Sansa sips her drink, trying to hide her discomfort and ends up taking far too big a gulp and choking. When her coughing fit ends, and she manages to breath normally again she nods and begins her story.

She starts with telling Tyrion of Joffrey's threats on their wedding night. How he said he would come in after Tyrion passed out and visit her bed… that if she wasn't willing he would have Ser Meryn hold her down. Then she tells him about the following day in the garden, where he asked lewd questions about the wedding night. Next, feeling completely humiliated, she describes what happened on the very couch they were sitting on, just a few days before.

"If Bronn had not arrived when he did," she says, her voice barely a whisper, "I fear he would have succeeded in finally raping me. He had me pinned right… right here."

Her voice cracks.

She's barely had more than a moment to herself since that encounter with Joffrey, and while she thought she had pushed it aside it now hits her how vulnerable it made her feel. He was _here_ in the chamber she shares with her husband, and he almost violated her.

Tyrion clearly able to see her discomfort reaches out to reassuringly pat her leg.

"You don't have to say any more," he tells her.

"It's okay," she insists with a deep breath. "Tonight as soon as I sat down Joffrey started touching me under the table. I tried to pretend I didn't notice, but I don't think I was very convincing. Ser Jaime seemed to know what was happening. Finally I couldn't take any more so I fled, and as you know Joffrey followed."

"_I _should have followed… I tried but my father held me up."

"I don't blame you. He didn't do anything more than before. He cornered and groped me… and hit me when I resisted, but Ser Jaime showed up and threatened him away," she says, sighing.

"The Valiant Jaime," Tyrion says, voice cool. "I'm sorry for what you suffered, and do not mean to make light of it in any way, but I am glad that is all you had to endure."

Sansa gives him a small nod, not sure what the right response would be in this situation. It wasn't exactly something covered in her 'Lady Training', as her brothers used to refer to it.

"How is your lip?" he asks.

"Better. The bleeding has stopped."

"You must be tired."

"I am," she answers, unable to hold back a large yawn.

"Well, to bed with you then! A lady should never cut herself short on beauty sleep… not that you need it."

Sansa smirks and paces to their bed, pausing before making herself comfortable.

"Are you coming?" she asks quietly, noting a book in his hands.

She hopes he can hear the need in her voice; she is far too mortified to ask him to join her, but she really wants the comfort of his body next to hers.

As if he can read her mind he nods and places the book on the closest shelf.

"Of course. I just had to put that away."

Tyrion climbs into bed and Sansa is quick to curl to him. She lies on her side with her head on his shoulder, and her hand on his chest.

Sansa doesn't notice the dark look in her husband's eyes as he sees the Lannister red handkerchief still clutched in her hand.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Sorry for the long wait, and that this chapter is a little shorter than the last one, but real life is insane. Thank you for your continued support and reviews. Every new favorite, follower, and review comes straight to my phone and each one is another reminder to get my butt working on the update.

Hang in there guys... big things are coming!


	13. An Ideal Offer

_**Thirteen**_

~ Sansa ~

When Sansa wakes she finds that Tyrion is already up and getting dressed. She yawns heavily and rolls to face him.

"Are you going somewhere?" she asks.

"I thought after breakfast I would run and grab my work things. I figured I could work here and we could spend the day together," Tyrion says, giving her a strained smile.

She sighs and sits up, pushing the covers away.

"Any particular reason you want to go through the hassle of lugging thirty pounds of ledgers to our chambers?"

"I'm a Lannister, my dear. I'd have someone else lug it, obviously."

Sansa glares at him, not at all amused.

"I just… wanted to spend more time with you," he offers.

"Are you sure you just don't want to leave me by myself after what we talked about last night?"

Sansa puts on a thin robe, and seats herself for breakfast. She's surprised to see that Pippa has already come and gone, all without waking her.

"Is it really so bad that I want to ensure you are safe?" Tyrion asks, sitting next to her.

"We can't just… just rearrange our whole life for the sake of one… bully. If we do that he wins."

"I'm pretty sure if he attacks you he wins," Tyrion mumbles.

"You know what I mean. If you have work to do today, go do it. There is no need to babysit me."

"You're right," he sighs, and the perks up. "I can have Bronn babysit."

While the term 'babysit' annoys her, Sansa knows that Tyrion does not see her as a child. That much is obvious by the way he is studying the thin fabric of her dressing gown as it clings to her every curve.

In that moment, she wishes he would kiss her. The way he studies her in combination with his obvious need to protect her makes Sansa want him more than she ever thought she could. Never in her life has she felt as beautiful as she feels when Tyrion looks at her.

"Are you alright having Bronn follow you around today?" he asks, averting his wandering gaze.

"I'm fine with it. I just don't know how pleased he'll be. I was planning to do some needlepoint in the garden."

"Perhaps you can give _him_ a lesson," Tyrion laughs.

Sansa helps herself to breakfast, nibbling on a fresh roll and studying Tyrion. She forgets to school her features and is embarrassed when he catches her staring.

She looks away blushing.

When Pippa returns to gather the dishes, Tyrion sends her to find Bronn.

"Lock the door until he gets here," Tyrion tells Sansa. "Only open it for him."

She walks him to the door, promising to lock it behind him.

"Have a good day," Sansa says, and before she can second-guess herself, she bends down to give him a quick kiss.

Tyrion opens his mouth and closes it twice before he wishes her a good day in return and takes his leave.

Sansa has just enough time to dress and do her hair before Bronn arrives at her door.

"Good day, Ser," she says, answering the door.

"M'Lady," he grunts, looking a bit uncomfortable. "Did you tell him what happened?"

Sansa looks around the hall to be sure no one is around before answering.

"No. There was another… incident, and Ser Jaime told him."

"'Bout the only time I've been in agreement with the Kingslayer."

"Will you accompany me to the garden?" she asks, ignoring him.

He nods, and steps aside to let her exit the room.

"Do you want me to carry that?" Bronn asks, pointing at her sewing things.

Sansa smiles thinking of Bronn walking around with a lady's sewing basket.

"No, thank you."

It's a beautiful sunny day out, the perfect day to be in the garden. While the weather is still warm, there is a chill in the air hinting at things to come.

Sansa seats herself in the sun, loving the way the warmth plays across her skin, and begins on her needlework. She's making a present for Tyrion. He's been very generous with her, and she wants to show her appreciation.

Bronn doesn't seem to have the same need for warmth as Sansa, and instead chooses to lounge on the ground in the shade. It isn't long before she can hear him snoring. She tries humming to drown out the sound.

"What tune is that? I swear I know it."

Sansa jumps and pokes her finger with the needle. When she looks up she sees Jaime Lannister standing over her.

"My Maiden Fair," she says, running a thumb over her injured finger.

"Ah, yes. I _have_ heard that one before. The lonely maid who runs off with a knight while her betrothed is asleep in the next room."

Sansa just nods. She wonders what he wants, but doesn't want to come straight out and ask.

"Do you have a moment to talk, my lady?" he finally asks.

"Of course. What can I help you with Ser Jaime?"

"Not here."

"I'm afraid I can't go anywhere else unless you would like me to wake Ser Bronn," she insists.

"I'll be brief, just come with me on one of the… more private paths. Five minutes, that's all I need."

Sansa looks over at Bronn's sleeping form, which seems to be snoring even louder. She didn't think that was possible.

"Five minutes," she says, standing up and placing her needlework on her seat.

Jaime offers her his arm and hesitantly she takes it, following his lead to the nearest garden path.

_Are there really two Lannisters I don't fear being alone with? Who would have ever thought? _

Jaime finds a place among the tall shrubberies for them to talk out of sight. He doesn't start talking until he's sure they are not being spied on.

"Do you want to go home?" he finally asks.

"King's Land—"

"Don't give me that line. I know you hate it here, and I know you are terrified every time you step out of the chambers you share with my brother. Do you want to go home?" he asks, every word deliberate.

"I… I c-can't."

"You can. I will help you. I promised your mother, Sansa. I can sneak you out of the castle, and I can get you home."

Sansa bites her lip. She wants to see her family again… her mother and brothers… Arya.

"If it weren't bad enough that my leaving would violate the King's wishes, I'm married. It would violate the oath I made in front of the gods."

"My brother told me that you haven't consummated the marriage. The gods would forgive you," Jaime says.

She blushes brightly.

"I don't… I just don't know."

"Think about it. In two days time there is a shipment of supplies going to some of the outer villages. I can sneak you out in that wagon and you can be on your way home."

His offer is so tempting she wants to tell him yes right on the spot, but she knows there is much more to think about than her childish wish for her mother.

Instead she just offers him a small and says she will consider his offer. Jaime holds out his arm once more and Sansa takes it, letting him lead her back to her seat by the snoozing Bronn.

Jaime takes her hand and kisses it before bidding her farewell.

"Two days," he whispers, "meet me outside my chambers in two days."

When he is gone Sansa tries to return her focus to Tyrion's present, but her mind is swimming.

_Can I trust him? Maybe this is a trap to test my loyalty to the Lannisters. He seems rather sincere though._

_Could I do that to Tyrion? Just run away without explanation? I'm not blind; I know he does harbor some sort of feelings for me. Can I just abandon him, making him the laughing stock of court? Tyrion Lannister: abandoned by the disgraced daughter of Ned Stark._

_At the same time, how could I _not _go? How could I pass up this opportunity to see my family again?_

She wants to throw her sewing materials to the ground in frustration, but refrains. Who knows who could be watching.

It doesn't take long for her to grow tired of the garden, and the watchful eyes she can feel tracing her skin. Sansa gently wakes Bronn and tells him she'd like to return to the room.

He escorts her back and promises to stand guard outside should she need anything. Sansa thanks him and barricades herself inside, throwing herself on the bed and letting her whirlwind of thoughts pull her all over the place.

_Go with Jaime._

_It could be a trap._

_I could be with my family._

_I would be without Tyrion._

_Do I care?_

_Yes, _she realizes, _I do care. I care a lot and I don't think I could ever just abandon him._

Sansa rolls over to groan into her pillow, realizing just how much more difficult her situation has become.

* * *

**Author's Note****:** Please forgive not only my absence, but the short length of this chapter. I wanted to get something out for you guys. I'm also sorry if the flow doesn't feel quite right in context with the rest of story, it's hard jumping back in after almost a two month hiatus. I promise the next update will be more in line.

SO... the last two months have been insane. My macbook got fried ( I actually get it back from the shop tomorrow morning, thank the gods), I went cross country for three weeks to spend time with family (I had to drive by myself from TX to MI with a dog and a 1 1/2 yr old, talk about fried nerves!), I spent a week vacation in Las Vegas, I graduated with my bachelors degree in science, and I finished writing a real book. I've been side tracked on that, trying to edit and clean it up to send out to an agent.

I hope you can all forgive me. I'm rewatching season 3 of GoT right now, trying to get back into character, and I promise to update at least once a week from here on out. I have the rest of this story mapped out, now it's just about getting the voices right. Thanks for hanging in there, you are the best!


	14. Unwelcome Ears

_**Fourteen**_

~ Tyrion ~

Tyrion tries to get his work done as quickly as he can, not wanting to be away from Sansa for longer than necessary. He trusts Bronn to look after her, and knows the sellsword would never let anything happen to her, but will feel more confident when he is there himself.

Unfortunately his day is filled with unwanted visitors and meetings that cannot be postponed. He doesn't get to head back to his chambers until almost suppertime.

When he turns down the hall leading to his room he sees Bronn diligently standing guard and releases the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

Bronn nods at him as he approaches, and Tyrion has a feeling he's about to be prevented from going home once more.

"We need to talk," Bronn says, glancing around.

"Well, let's take this inside, shall we?"

"No. This is something you'd should hear without your little doe-eyed wife there to distract you by batting her eyelashes."

Tyrion sighs and pulls Bronn away from the chamber door. He looks around to be sure they are alone before urging the man to continue.

"What is it?" Tyrion asks.

"I went to the garden today, with Miss Sansa—"

"Did she try to teach you needlepoint? Sorry, that was my idea," Tyrion chuckles.

"No, just listen. The Kingslayer showed up," Bronn says, and Tyrion stiffens. "I was pretending to sleep, and he showed up and led your lady off."

"Did you follow them?"

"Course I did. When I found them though, I only caught the end of what was being said. It sounded like he was trying to get her to run away with him. She said she'd think about it and then they turned back. I had to hightail it to make it back to my spot and feign sleep. I just barely made it before them. He told her to meet him outside his chambers in two days."

Bronn stands there eyes wide as saucers, his expression clearly saying he wished he weren't the one bearing this news.

"Thank you for telling me this," Tyrion says coldly, and tries to turn back towards his room.

_Of course she wants Jaime you imbecile, you can hardly be surprised,_ part of his mind insists.

_I thought she cared for me, _another part supplies.

Bronn puts a hand on his arm stopping him.

"Do you want me to have some words with your rat brother?" he asks, chest puffed out.

"No, no, best leave things to me," Tyrion insists.

He storms back to the room and bangs the door open. A surprised squeak draws his eyes to the small couch, and they almost bug out at what they see.

Sansa is spread out on the couch, working on and her needlepoint. It's not that which surprises him, but the manner she's sitting and the clothing, or lack there-of, she's wearing.

She has her legs pulled up and folded beside her and she's leaning against the arm of the couch. Sansa is wearing what appears to be a nightdress, but it is unlike anything he's seen her wear before. It is a deep red, silky fabric that hangs low and comes up short, ending at mid thigh.

His mouth goes dry and he struggles to take a breath.

"You're home," she says, smiling brightly.

_And you're practically naked…_

_Probably just trying things on to take with her and Jaime,_ his wandering mind suggests.

Tyrion's eyes harden and he turns away from her.

"Just for a moment. I just had to grab this book," he says reaching for a random tome. "I still have a lot of work to get done."

Tyrion quickly retreats to the door and he hears Sansa scurry to her feet.

"When will you be back?" she asks, sounding hopeful.

_Probably hoping you won't be back._

"Very late," he says glancing back at her and trying not to notice how he can see the outline of her nipples through her gown. "Don't wait up."

Before he can back out he leaves and flings the door shut behind him.

~ Sansa ~

The bang of the door reverberates through her chest like a physical blow.

_Maybe I was wrong… maybe he doesn't want me,_ she thinks, heartbroken.

After she got back from the garden and had thrown herself into bed, Sansa had done a lot of thinking. After hours of agonizing over whether she should run away and let Ser Jaime take her home she had finally reached a decision; the decision to stay.

Once she let herself admit how much she's come to care for Tyrion, Sansa realized there was no way she could just abandon him. There's no telling what he would have to face from the wrath of Tywin if she escaped. She does know that he would be blamed, ridiculed, and much worse if she were to go, and there is no way she can do that to him.

She came to another decision during all of her thinking as well. Sansa has decided she wants to share Tyrion's bed in the manner of husband and wife. She wants him to make love to her.

She's not sure she actually _loves_ him, but Sansa does care for him a great deal, and she has grown to find him quite handsome.

_Who knows if we'll both make it out of this war? There is nothing wrong with finding something to take comfort in from one's situation. Besides, if Joffrey were to succeed in his attempts… I'd much rather he not steal that special moment of becoming a woman from me._

She knows her reasons sound as if they are only born from fear and uncertainty, but Sansa doesn't see it that way. She sees it as taking full control over at least one aspect of her life. This is her decision to make, and she is choosing Tyrion.

_I know he will treat me right, and will be gentle._

With this in mind, she set to work. Sansa carefully unbound her hair, letting it hang in soft curls, and did her make-up, applying a generous amount of blush. She then dallied over which outfit to choose.

In the end she decided to dress in a night shift, knowing Tyrion wouldn't be back until dinner. Most of the ones she owns are modest and positively childish… not at all the look she was going for. She did find one, though, tucked in the very back of her trunk, all but forgotten.

_A wedding gift from Cersei._

The spiteful woman had showed up on Sansa's wedding day bearing the impractical, verging on scandalous, shift saying Tyrion would no doubt appreciate it if Sansa wore it on their wedding night.

Sansa had blushed profusely and barely managed to stammer her thanks. As soon as the queen had departed she shoved the frightful garment into the furthest corner of her trunk, not wanting to ever look at it again.

After deciding to seduce her husband and having no idea how to go about doing so, Sansa decided the improper shift was just what she needed.

_Surely he'll see me in it and know what I want… Gods, I hope so, because I only have the vaguest idea of what I want._

After dressing, _if you can call it that_, she settled herself suggestively, or so she thought, onto the couch and continued working on her needlepoint. As the time passed she became so caught up in her work, eager to finish her gift for Tyrion, that when he barged in she jumped and let out a squeak of surprise.

When Tyrion turned to face her Sansa felt her heart race.

_This is it…_

But then his eyes had hardened and he turned his back on her, with some excuse about work.

When she starts to recover from the shock of the slammed door, Sansa wanders to the bookshelf. She checks twice to be sure and sighs sadly when she sees the book he 'needed for work' was actually her collection of fairytales.

Tears prickle her eyes as she extinguishes the candles in the room and climbs into bed alone.

_Maybe he's never actually wanted me… he's just feigned it out of duty, and now that I'm interested he's retreating._

She lays there for hours the weight of rejection weighing down on her and preventing her from drifting off to sleep. Sansa's not sure what time it is when she hears the door squeak open and feels Tyrion climb into bed with her, but the sting of rejection hits her anew when he stays far on the other side away from her.

Eventually she hears him start to snore and wishes sleep would find her and carry her far away from King's Landing.

As more time passes she feels Tyrion tossing in his sleep, and hears him mumbling.

"S… Sansa…"

When she hears her name on his lips, Sansa quickly rolls over to look at him. Tyrion is laying flat on his back, and she blushes when she sees the way the covers are tented around his manhood.

_Perhaps he does desire me,_ she thinks. _But why did he rush away?_

Sansa comes to the conclusion that she must not have been obvious enough, and perhaps he left in a hurry because he was trying to protect her from the indecency of the situation. She decides that her future attempts at seducing her husband have to be a lot clearer.

_Tomorrow we begin,_ she thinks, and falls asleep with a wicked smirk on her face.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Another short chapter, I know, but it was a good stopping point. I'm already halfway through the next chapter and it will be up in a few days. Anyone excited about Sansa's attempts to 'seduce her husband'?

Thanks for all of the reviews! I love them!


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